This morning at 5:45 my husband asked me if I knew where the bowl to the mixer was. Now, I could be annoyed and complain that he was waking me up at that hour to ask about the mixer bowl, but I ain’t stupid (or I didn’t just fall off no turnip truck, fool -- or whatever they say in Georgia). I am thrilled that I have a husband who cooks, even when I can’t eat, and if he needs the mixer bowl he can ask.
Two hours later Jimmy came upstairs and found the bowl to the mixer under my bed, right below my own head. Apparently Dominyk had wanted to lick the brownie dough last night and snuck up to our room in the corner to get the job done.
So, the day is beginning with the mixer bowl in the kitchen, right where it belongs.
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