It fell apart after I got pregnant. Apparently, my inability to tolerate the smell of cooking chicken extended to cooking eggs. We hadn't had Sunday morning omelets in a very long time until last weekend.
The magic has returned.
My omelet in progress. Yes, I see the shmootz on the stove. Yes, I cleaned it up. I'm great, but I'm not particularly neat...what do you want?
Ryan accused me of loading his omelet with vegetables so that I could put all the sausage and cheese in mine. He seems to forget that he ASKS for jalapeƱos and onions and such in his omelets.
Ok. Maybe there is a lot of sausage and cheese in mine. Baby wanted chorizo.
Wow. That looks good enough to eat...oh, wait...that's right...we did.
Ryan tears into his omelet like a ravening beast.
Gracie chews on something a little less delicious...her leg.
For those of you who were keen enough to spot it in the above picture of Ryan devouring his omelet...ten points. That is a can of lager from "America's Oldest Brewery." Yes, nothing tops off breakfast like a fine can of Yuengling, brewed right here in beautiful nearby Pottsville, PA (ok, it's not really "nearby," but it's way closer than the Guinness brewery).
So, the Sunday morning omelets have found their way back into the Sitter household...at least as long as I get relatively long periods of uninterrupted sleep, that is. Somehow I think a screaming baby will make the preparation of omelets much less appealing.
2 comments:
That sounds REALLY yummmmmmy!!! :D
umm not the beer part lol
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