Once more, with feeling: I had leftovers yet again during my hospital night shift. I ain’t complaining – I’m just happy I’ve still got braised shanks and Asian cauliflower fried rice from earlier in the week to eat at work.
Once I got home, I checked on my boys, and save for a few sniffles, the Double-Os seemed to be feeling much better.
Henry, on the other hand, is still sick as a dog. Nonetheless, he’d gamely dragged himself out of bed to pack Big-O’s school lunch of pastrami-wrapped sautéed mushroom roll-ups…
…held together with toothpicks.
Doesn’t everything taste better when skewered with a toothpick?
Big-O’s lunch was rounded out with a handful of baby carrots, strawberries, applesauce, and almonds.
It was Picture Day at school, so before leaving the house, we made sure Big-O was ready for his close-up. As we styled his hair into a miniature fauxhawk, my little guy asked me if I was sad that the only time adults have Picture Day is when we go to jail. I guess I’m reading too much TMZ around the kiddos.
After escorting my well-coiffed second-grader to his classroom, I staggered home and collapsed in bed – but not before announcing to no one in particular that I wouldn’t be cooking dinner. I’m on strike.
When I regained consciousness, I called in our usual order to Asian Box: five-spice pork over undressed Asian salad and topped with herbs, lime squeeze, pickled veggies, and a caramel egg.
I drizzled the housemade sriracha on my salad and savored the grub with my family.
It’s nice to know there’s a dependable take-out joint in the neighborhood, and that I can decide on a whim to ditch my kitchen duties.
We herded the children into bed, and I packed my stuff for work for the last time this week. As my feverish husband shuffled off to bed, my day was just beginning…1