…as you can tell by the fact that the fridge is full.
Can you believe this thing? I don’t think it’s this jam packed when you’re home which means I’m not winning Mother of the Year anytime soon but still. Yogurt and rolls and eggs and all manner of gooey deliciousness and leftovers – leftovers! which means she’s cooking! and I’m eating! – in our refrigerator. It’s terrifying. And I’m not the only one who’s flipped out. The pots and pans are too. I heard them talking among themselves just yesterday, kvetching about some woman who keeps putting them to work. Ok, maybe I thought I heard that. I blame it on the chicken cutlets she made last night. And the corn. And the mashed potatoes. All this food. I’m unsure what I’m more frightened of, the fridge or the scale, so I’m trying to steer clear of both.
Seriously Cuy, I’ve had to run the dishwasher twice – twice! – since her arrival. Do you know how many plates I used between your departure for New Zealand and Grandma’s arrival? None. Dinner is Tostitos straight out of the bag and wine. I put the bag away and wash the glass. And sometimes I don’t even do that. I mean, I’m only going to use it again the next night so why bother? God, why am I telling you this? You’re such a germaphobe. Don’t worry, I do rinse the glass and I certainly make sure Jenn and Sandra don’t use it when they come over for wine and cheese and crackers. (Look! I even eat cheese and crackers. Tostitos, cheese, crackers and wine. The diet of champions!)
Come home soon, my champion. I promise to have the fridge full of things you like. And if I’m recovered from Grandma’s food festival, I might even cook them.