Today, like every morning, when I opened my eyes I was slightly dazed, and a little crazed. I bumbled around in the dark, trying to figure out which tasks I would take on before my brood arose from their slumber.
I washed clothes, put away dishes, and straightened up a bit. I had a little extra time, so I decided to pull out the skillet, and began making breakfast. I scrambled eggs, cooked some turkey bacon and cut up strawberries.
The children slowly began their march downstairs, awoken by the wafting smells of early morning delights.
The entire house was soon abuzz with the normal routine of the early day. Some were getting dressed, others were filling their bellies, and one sat to my right as I brushed her hair and quizzed her on her lessons.
We were soon interrupted by the stomping of little feet that stopped directly in front of us.
With arms crossed, and a frown on her face, Soledad (age 3) announces, “Mommy, You really put too much salt on my eggs!”
“Oh really?” I say, “Sorry, I’ll try not to do that next time.”
She huffs a bit, and begins to walk away, but not before somebody else chimes in.
“Aaaah. Yuk!” there’s a bit of a cough, and Warwick chokes out “You sure did!”
Not entirely shocked that he’d say that, I sit staring at him. I’m brooding.
“Gosh, Nicole. How much salt did you use?” he says, seriously wanting an answer.
“I don’t know. Not much. Or at least I didn’t think that much. I must have gotten distracted.”
“Is it even necessary to put salt on eggs? You do that A LOT.”
“I absolutely DO NOT. And yes, it is necessary to put a little salt on eggs. AND for your information, I cook meals 365 days a year X 3 TIMES A DAY!!!! That’s a whole lot of meals! With those type of odds a meal or two is bound not to be PERFECT!!!”
Warwick: Nothing. No sound. No thing.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
He then gets up, fumbles around in the kitchen, pretending to clean up.
Later, on his way out the door, he tightly wraps his arms around me enveloping me in his pillowy embrace.
“I left a little treat for the girls on the coffee table. It’s mints.” He whispers.
“Oh,” I mumble, clearly still ticked off.
“Do you want a little treat?” He speaks slowly into my ear.
“Excuse me. Are you serious? IS THAT YOUR WAY OF TELLING ME MY BREATH STINKS, TOO?”
He looks at me as if he is looking into the eyes of his deranged wife of 50 years, leans over and kisses me strongly, passionately, and forcefully. And I’ll be damned if that little booger didn’t tongue slip a mint into my mouth.
I still don’t know if my breath smelled bad. But after that kiss, I don’t care.
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If it isn’t obvious yet, that man has me wrapped around his finger. And so, because he has to deal with my shenanigans on a daily basis, today I’m going to make him a little treat, one of his favorites, a Strawberry Colada. Yes my sweets, you ain’t neva eva had it this good!
*Add a little rum for the real thing, or keep the rum out for a tasty Popsicle. You can even throw in a banana for a killer smoothie.
4-5 oz. of Rum
½ cup condensed milk
1 cup of fresh strawberry puree
4 oz. pineapple juice
10 oz. Lite Coconut Milk (you can easily substitute regular coconut milk)
3 tsp. sugar
2 cups of crushed ice
1. Dissolve sugar into coconut milk..
2. Add coconut milk mixture, condensed milk, strawberry puree, pineapple juice, and crushed ice to blender and blend thoroughly.
3. Pour into glass, garnish and serve.
Makes 4 1/2 cups.