I woke far too early this morning--before 5--and by 6, I was ravenous.
So I did what any self-respecting woman short on sleep would do: I fixed myself an enormous breakfast. Scrambled eggs (single whole egg, two egg whites) with mushrooms, bacon, broiled tomato, whole wheat toast, coffee. The smell of bacon woke the son, caused the spouse to hurry through his shower, rousted the daughter early from bed, and had Milton happily rolling all over the floor in anticipation of deliciousness. When a mushroom stem dropped on the floor, Milton pounced on it, kitten-like, and batted it all over the room.
No one (except, possibly, Milton) could believe there was a full-on cooked breakfast on a Thursday.
(It was almost an English breakfast--mushrooms and tomatoes FTW--but I have no truck with baked beans at that hour. When we were in London a few years back, both kids looked at the baked beans in the breakfast buffet with a sort of horror. I refrained from explaining the black pudding, just told them it was something they wouldn't like. This morning, the daughter fussed slightly because I did not make pancakes, and the son asked hopefully if I'd made coffee cake).
As the spouse pulled out of the drive at 7:30, replete and ready for an invigorating day in the field, it began to drizzle. Within fifteen minutes, it was spitting in earnest. By 8:15, the trees were dripping. As I write, an hour later, it is still going at it, and we can hear the water running through the gutters and out the downspouts. This is anomalous. We don't have cool mornings and drizzle in July.
Imagine if I'd made the baked beans.
Go listen to some good music: "The Camera Eye" from the album Moving Pictures by Rush. Sadly, I had no marmalade this morning, so guava jelly had to do. And I'm having the Irish breakfast tea now before I brave the grocery for the third time this week. Tiny update: blogging problems, so I'm pushing this again. And I made shortcakes... Which were good, and I'm still having blog issues.