Another day spent thinking about houses, another unimaginative dinner: pasta with eggplant sauce. Yes, it was less than two weeks ago that I half-heartedly endorsed this as “nice enough”. But the eggplant looked so perky, and I added mozzarella for kicks. Easy, tasty, done. The baby had bread and the second half of a jar she started at lunch time- rice with chicken and vegetables, I believe, although they all look and taste like carrot mush.
We celebrated my father’s birthday with brunch (many delicious things were had, including cream cheese and salmon sandwiches, scrambled eggs and home made egg salad- and cheese, of course), which segued seamlessly into teatime (with this apple cake). Then it was high time for a bicycle ride. Afterwards, the seemingly impossible happened and we were peckish again. So I waited about an hour at Sushi For You and then got home with the wrong order. But really, an hour is enough. So we ate. And we were happy. (No picture. The excitement over the efficient sushi made me forget.)
The ladies of the house weren’t feeling so hot (explosive poops and a red bum, scratchy throat and sore muscles- you’re welcome), but the weather reports warned us this might well be the last nice weekend of the year, so out we went. To Artis to wave at the lions, then to the Pizzabakkers for (delicious) pizza. It was lovely, but now I am joining my daughter for a snooze.
A mother and daughter dinner of chicken and chicory. Léa stuffed her cheeks full of smoked chicken, miraculously managed to swallow most of it (rest assured that the escaped bits were quickly shovelled back in) and then even found room for some bread, boiled chicory and bell pepper. When she was bored with those, it was time to demand the chicken from my bowl as well (“nehnehnehNEHNAAA”). But I played dumb and kept all the fowl for mememe.
When it was time for dessert, every bite of icy watermelon made her pull a funny face, but she kept right on chewing. That’s my girl.