I quite sure that I'm giving the impression that every story relating to Blanden and myself relates to eggs. I assure you that there are countless other stories involving other topics, but eggs seem to be the funniest. For Blanden's early afternoon brunch, I decided to make him another Denver Omelette (yes I know, but please reference earlier post). While making my original signature dish, Blanden was growing impatient about the amount of time required to bring this meal to perfection. Once the omelette was sufficiently cooled, I place the dish in front of Blanden. Underestimating Blanden's ever-increasing wing-span, I mistakenly sit the plate within his grasp. The omelette, in all of its glorious perfection, had randomly spread throughout the island's countertop. The above picture captures Blanden attempting to conceal the evidence of his Dad's crime. I have another hour before Mom gets home to cleanup the remaining crumbs.
1 comment:
Blanden, your Dad has just begun to see how far your "wing span" will be ever increasing, and if he thinks you can reach father, and get into more and more mischief now, just wait until you start either crawling or walking, them you'll really give the folks a run for their money. Ed good for you for making Blanden omlets, I still have't prefected that art, not to mention PaPa John used to feed Katie and Andrew a lunch of salami, chips and coke! So you are far ahead of him. Now, the question reminds, what was the "status" of the clean up when Mom arrived home?
Love to all of you, grammy,(aka: Mom/marilyn)
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