Image by cdw9 via Flickr
Bob’s on a plane to Wisconsin—his first post-cancer flight. (He even has hair.) Fortunately, this trip's for pleasure, not business.
He’s on his way to the Sea of Cheeseheads for Sunday’s Packers v. Bears game. They don’t make football like that in California; you have to travel to Green Bay to get it. Thanks, John, for making this weekend happen.
While Bob’s off bumpin’ cheese wedges in Green Bay, I’m holding down the fort with the kiddos. Big plans on deck here. Oh, yeah. First, I’ve decided to do our taxes. You know, the ones we were supposed to do around the time Bob got his diagnosis? Seems that extension’s only good until October, which turns out to be next month. Shit.
Ever the Master Procrastinator (did I mention that my apartment in college was never cleaner than during finals week?), I’ve mastered free-form egg poaching (first try!) and whipped up a kickass batch of biscuits (at 2am) in an effort to avoid both sleep and productivity. I’ve also located a recipe I’ve been meaning to try for Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. Anyone want to place bets on whether or not there will be a loaf rising before Sunday afternoon?
Hopefully, my CPA isn’t reading this. In case he is, I promise to throw a biscuit and a loaf of bread in the box with the rest of my mangled paperwork, Mike. And can I just send you pictures of my BlogHer swag from last year and let you figure out the value? Awesome! You're the best.
(Hey, at least it’s not chicken shit. He has clients that give him receipts with chicken shit on them. I’m way classier than that. A booger here and there, maybe, but no chicken shit.)