Fiffer Feffer Feff

Dessert first.

It's just been one of those days - full of 2 year olds being 2, 35 year olds being pissy, and everyone trying their best to just get along. And stay together.

I indeed started and ended my day with a slice of apple pie. The first of the season. Talk about comfort eating. Just the way the apple peel releases from the flesh under the cut of my paring knife is enough to inspire relief in the heart. Apple pie is comfort cooking. Hmm, maybe I should be making another pie right now?

Why so much stress in my retirement and new career? Well, I've been sick (sniff) and Hubby has been pretty much gone for a week. The first few days actually felt pretty good. I thought I was handling things so well. It certainly makes a huge difference to not be gone for 10 hours a day at a job that crushed me. By now, however, I'm cranky and fuelling myself with tea all day, and a chocolate and scotch once the girls go to bed.

This weekend I thought I better buckle down and be a good mom. I tried. Hey, I only lost Death Wish once at the market today. And I did my best to take responsibility for that one, although we all know that she took off while I dealt with her spazzing sister. But today is Sunday and so rather than heat up leftovers I thought we all deserved a proper dinner.

Enter the roast chicken. Take one chicken, a giant clove of garlic, and a lemon. Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Pat the chicken dry, smash the garlic clove, and stuff the lemon and garlic in the cavity of the chicken. Salt, pepper, and a little bit of olive oil. Place in oven. Cook for an hour or hour and a half (depending on the size of chicken). Eat.

The Monster asked for potatoes and tomatoes to eat with the chicken, so I roasted some potato coins and made a salad. At least I roasted a chicken. And we sat down together, us girls, and ate our Sunday dinner while singing songs about a Fiffer Feffer Feff. And then we ate pie.