I was all set up at my computer, with a cup of coffee on one side, and a chocolate chip cookie on the other, to start writing a completely different post than this one, when Daddio called. He is at the store doing an emergency grocery shopping trip. ("Emergency" because while he was away in NYC this weekend, the boys and I ran out of just about everything, including milk, orange juice, and pretzels, all of the daily staples in our house. And since I don't have any money, or access to Daddio's money, as discussed before, we had to wait until he returned to pick up some more. Yeah, it sucks).
But back to the story at hand. Daddio called from the store. Our conversation went like this:
Daddio: You have "cinnamon bread" on the list. What is this?
Me: Um. It's bread with a cinnamon swirl baked into it.
Daddio: Why do you need it?
Krista: Because I am making a breakfast bake to take over to J later in the week. (J is a friend of mine who just had a baby last week. She ended up needing a C-section and arrived home Saturday. A bunch of us have decided to make meals for her during her first week home, since that's the last thing she is going to want to worry about right now).
Daddio: Sigh. (And then in a really annoyed tone of voice), What? She can't make anything herself?
Yeah. That's the inconsiderate a$$ that I'm "proud" to say is the father of my sons. Guess who made the meals in our house after the first couple of days home from the hospital with the boys?
Update: Daddio just called back again: I'm not getting the bread. I'm not spending $4 on a loaf of bread. Make something else.
And he wonders why I'm grumpy all the time.