I think there’s something dead under my oven.
Pregnancy has lent me its supersonic sense of smell. When combined with apparently never-ending morning sickness, this is not a good thing. I’ve banned Kevin from making corned beef hash as every time he does, I throw up. One day last week I came downstairs for a snack and the cat must have just had a poop because the smell sent me diving towards the kitchen sink.
Every time I’m in the kitchen I smell something. For a while I thought it was the cat box which is round the corner in the pantry. But I smell it even after it’s just been cleaned. In the last couple of days my nose has narrowed it down to something in the kitchen itself, possibly underneath the stove or the fridge.
So today I looked. Or at least tried. I hope we don’t get a blackout any time soon because I have no idea where a flashlight is in this house. I know we have at least one. But where? You got me.
But I lay on the kitchen floor (which I really should scrub thoroughly one of these months) and looked under the stove. I saw an outline. Ew. A mouse? I gingerly probed with a flattened cardboard box while Duncan was occupied in the living room. Dust bunny. Then I investigated further. No flashlight, perhaps, but my cell phone’s flash illuminated a little. Not enough. There were lots of odd shapes under there. Could it be a dead body? Who knows. The smell continues.
However, I think maybe the morning sickness is getting better. I cooked tonight. Really cooked.
One of the few things I loved about family life growing up in England (or at least kinda enjoyed) was Sunday dinner. There was always a roast animal of some kind, roast potatoes, a veggie that I could probably choke down and, if we got really lucky or it was Christmas, yorkshire puddings. And gravy. (Got to have the gravy.)
I know Duncan isn’t old enough to appreciate it yet, and Kevin is asleep Sunday afternoon/evening as he’s working nights, but I want my Sunday dinner tradition back. Maybe not every Sunday, though that would be nice. Maybe when the kids are older. And Kevin has a normal-hours job. But I thought I’d give it a try today.
So – roast beef (which can be sliced and hopefully eaten in sandwiches), roast red potatoes (skins still on), brussel sprouts picked fresh from the garden, gravy, and yorkshire puddings. 🙂 I also made some butternut squash but forgot to eat it.
Mmmm…yorkshire pudding smothered in gravy. 🙂
Duncan was totally not into it, ate a little potato, a bite of beef, handed me his yorkshire pudding and was done. Then he fed himself a jar of baby food carrots and allowed me to feed him half a banana.
I loved it, though. I’m not one of those “eat to live” people who only eats because they have to. At least not usually. I know I have an emotional connection with food and I work to keep it from being an unhealthy one. I think it’s good when that connection brings real pleasure. Like tonight.
And maybe it’s a sign that my stomach is getting back to normal and will stop punishing me with thoughts of dead rodents under the stove. Bleh!