What’s going on?

Not much. Briar is finally down and Avery just expressed her distaste for the onesie I dressed her in by shitting all over it.


Yeah. What’s going on?

I thought I might come home for lunch.

Silence. Lot’s and lot’s of silence followed by:

Wonderboy left his wallet at home.

You being Wonderboy?


K, I’ll see what I can come up with.


How much time have I got?

Maybe a half an hour.

K, see you.

This was followed by a very loud, inside my head “shit.”

Slim picken’s in the fridge here. Seriously. What to do?

Expired ricotta. Old Jello. 2 jars of diced garlic.
Chardonnay. Eggs, probably past their “best by” date.
Half a tub of mystery tan colored baby food.
Toast crumby vegan buttery stuff. Shredded parmesean.
Nonfat cottage cheese that is not to be touched on pain of death as it is one of 7.2 foods Briar will eat.

Avery alerted me to the fairly obvious fact that there was an ass load of beer and condiments for the taking.

Hmm, improvise, improvise. The clock is ticking.
Desperation quesadillas?
A little jello and breastmilk on an organic red chile tortilla?

That might just convince him to walk out on me.

Hey, mom!

I think I see some sausage back here!

Super. I’ll make soup. Little bit of this, little bit of that and a whole lot of:

What the hell do you want from me? I had 30 minutes and it contains no breastmilk. Consider yourself lucky.