12 minutes

It's 'make up dinner as you go' night at the Tiny House, which might result in something fantabulous or might results in something along the lines of 'I hope I don't remember how I made that'; only time will tell.

But there's ham and onions involved, so it won't be totally terrible.

I think this is the fourth complete meal I've made off one Easter ham, and there's still a terrifying amount of meat left on the the bone to go. Easily enough for a few hefty sammiches or another entire meal for 4.

Then there's the bone. This one, I might just chuck, as it was 100 freaking degrees here today, which in NO WAY equates to pea soup weather, and besides, I have a tub of it in the freezer from a couple of months ago I've not yet thawed and supped upon, so what's the point of making more?

It's bad enough I'm boiling macaroni right now. The kitchen heats up like MAD with the new Maserati of stoves doing the cooking. Simmering a pot of liquid love (AKA pea soup) for hours would be waaay too much.

Also - Eric the cat is a champion shedder. Are there medals for that? There should be. He would totally win one. Or all of them. Day after day I leave for work in the morning and the living room floor is reasonably hair-free, and by 5:30 there's a clumpy mess of orange hair left thereupon. The culprit can ONLY be Eric. It's a darned good thing he's utterly adorable, or he'd be out on his ear by nightfall.

Funny, I feel the same way about the Things on occasion (anyone else with teenagers care to explain to me how they fail, time after time, to PUT AWAY THEIR DAGGONE CEREAL BOWLS WHEN THEY"RE DONE WITH THEM??). When they were sub-double-digit ages I was OK with telling them how to live like regular folks, but things have devolved to the point that I despair of them ever being able to eat a meal without me saying 'BITE SIZED PIECES' or "MOUTH CLOSED' or 'DON'T TIP YOUR CHAIR' or any one of a number of motherly aphorisms with which I spice our dinner conversation.

I hope it's not just us, or them, or me. They can't be the only semi-domesticated teens in the world, can they?

Tell me all about it in the comments. I must dash - pasta's done!

Tiff out.