… read the instructions??
I guess, that is, if you can find them.
See, I made a big pot of homemade beef vegetable soup for dinner. Preston called at 10:30 and said that he’d rather have fish portions and a baked potato. Fine by me. I washed the potato and put it in to bake. When he got home at 11:45, I put the fish portions in, but I couldn’t find the cooking instructions, although I was sure I’d saved them in the Ziploc with the food. Oh well. Into the oven go the fish portions.
You can see where this is going, right??
Fifteen minutes later, I took the fish portions out to turn them over. And yup. Stuck on the back of one were the cooking instructions! I was laughing so hard I couldn’t get the fished turned over. I’m still giggling. Preston swore, though, that they did not taste like instructions when he ate them — er, the fish portions that is.
[[this is a post from 2003. i promised preston’s mother around this time last year that i’d make an effort to start writing memories down instead of letting them get lost inside my head. i collected a bunch from blue moon journal that i didn’t want to lose and saved them. i’m also in the process of making strong notes when memories pop into the forefront of my mind. this post is the first in a series that’s going to crop up now and again.]]