This weekend, Noah discovered our oven. And, for the first time in his life, he baked. And not in a half-assed way, oh no: I came home from "Wonderful Town" last night to a freshly baked red pepper and romano quiche and a cherry pie (topped with a brown sugar egg wash, and served with real whipped cream, no less!).
This morning, he made popovers. From scratch.
This kind of thing might be why the scale says I gained 13 pounds in the last two weeks. Or, the scale might just be evil and wrong, and I will be able to eat four popovers with jam for breakfast every day without consequence! I vote for Option B.
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