on trying to burn down the house and other mayhem . . .

to be fair, let's start at the beginning.  I woke up at 6:30 this morning after a fretful night's sleep and did a 3.88 mile walk with the eloquent miss Joanie, which I promptly rounded up to a full four miles considering my morning trips to the bath room.  For those who have lost your gallbladder, you'll understand the validity of claiming the extra .12th of this mile.  I was exhausted. 

After a quick bath, which is kind of difficult to do while making sure the caterpillar on my chest stays dry, I jumped into clean clothes and headed out with Kidlet to an appointment, followed by a grocery shopping expedition for the weeks noshes. Upon returning home, I sweetly asked the 9TS if he would grill my chicken breasts for my daily lunches.  Always the obliging soul, he puttered out to do his thing while I dragged ass my butt upstairs to stare longingly at my bed.  However, in short order, the 9TS yelled up that we were out of gas pointing proficiently at a plate full of grill marked raw chicken.  Not to be deterred, I popped them in a casserole dish and shoved them in the oven at 350 and set the alarm for 30 minutes.

I still am not clear on what woke me some hour and a half later but I ran downstairs past the sleeping bodies of the rest of the family and threw open the oven door.  I guess being marinated in olive oil, sea salt and fresh ground pepper made them impervious to the heat . . . they were still edible when tossed with black olives, bits of bleu cheese, radish and cucumber slices, sunflower seeds and a couple of Texas Toast Caesar croutons.  Yummo!

My Le Creuset dish may never be the same but house and home were still standing and for my money, that's all that counts.

Now comfortably ensconced back in bed, I'm looking out the window at the pouring rain, listening to the not so gentle snores of the 9TS, and realizing that a gas tank exchange may not be on the list of chores completed this afternoon and wondering how dinner  will fare.