Kitchen Adventures

I haven't been blogging this week because I wanted to finish the most complete and thorough revision of my novel I have ever performed. Now it is done, draft number 18, complete in all its glory! I thought I had been so careful, but as I was punching holes in the print-out I noticed two words stuck together, a double comma, and a paragraph just teeming with passive voice and unneeded adverbs!

I THOUGHT I HAD REVISED CAREFULLY!

I'll just have to try again. Later. Much later. Now I need a break. I'm going to read lots of novels, build another harp, and compose some music. Then I'll get back to my novel.

In the mean time, I'm going to post some funny stories my sister sent me. She doesn't have her own blog, and I thought these were perfect mommy funnies:

I was making egg noodle casserole tonight, tossing in an old jar of Classico spaghetti sauce (use within 5 days of opening... Hmm, it’s been 6...) and then I remembered I had a fresh tomato...fresh is relative. It sat hopefully on the counter for the first week (I’ve heard that sugars in tomatoes break down when refrigerated) but I forgot what I had bought it for. It had then been banished to the refrigerator, where I went to find it tonight so I could toss it in the casserole, too. The more the merrier, right? Well, I couldn’t find it. Then I had a flash of memory. When Warner had been cleaning his room this morning, he had come to me and said he found a potato in his room. I was skeptical. What color was it? I asked. “Red.” I usually only buy red potatoes. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t just referring to the Mr. Potato head we got from Grandma for valentines. I went and looked around and didn’t see any potatoes, so I let it go. Besides, potatoes are pretty safe lying around the house and I figured it would turn up. Well, when the tomato turned up missing, and I remembered the leftover container of macaroni and cheese I had to rescue from the boys room this afternoon, and I recalled that Warner always calls tomatoes “potatoes,” the light finally came on. I went into the room where both my boys were snoozing. “Warner, you have to wake up! Warner! You said you found a potato in here. Where is it?” Grunt, roll over, finger sucking sounds. “Joseph” (he had popped right up when I walked in the room) “What did you do with the tomato?” “Der” he meekly pointed at the play kitchen, eyebrows dimpled in his usual way when he is concerned. I found the tomato sitting in a play pot in the play microwave. It was slightly more wrinkled than it had been when first banished to the fridge, but oh well, it wasn’t rotten. Into the casserole it went.