Hello, Old Friend

My last trip to the big grocery store in the big village was not a total success. A. had come with me to go to urgent care, thanks to a raging case of strep throat, so he was sitting in the car wilting while I took Jack in with me and raced through the store as fast as I could. In my haste, I grabbed a container of raisins instead of prunes* and a giant container of unsalted peanuts instead of a giant container of cashews.

Damn. What am I gonna do with all those unsalted peanuts?

Oh wait. I KNOW.

Hello, homemade peanut butter, my old friend and enemy to my jeans.

I stopped making peanut butter awhile back because it was something I could eat too much of, and I was the only one who ate it anyway. A. categorically refused it, and Cubby wasn't such a fan. So I figured they could eat the Crisco-like crap from the store, and I would be less tempted by that because it's not as appealing to me.

But now I have a pint of homemade peanut butter with maple syrup sitting on my counter, and a hell of lot more peanuts in the jar. At least Jack will eat it.

Eat up, son. Your jeans never fit for longer than a few months, anyway.

* Don't give me that look. Prunes are delicious. Would it make you feel better if I called them dried plums?

** Remember when cashews were incredibly expensive? Now they're as cheap and ubiquitous as peanuts. I read the back of a container of them and realized it's because they're now apparently all grown in developing countries. Huh. Nut economics mirror world economics, I suppose.