I had an early bed time yesterday, though most of the night, my body couldn’t seem to figure out what temperature it wanted to be. Still, I woke up feeling less than awful. At 10:00 am. It was so weird.
Moving away from home has made me appreciate the things that I once barely noticed. For as long as I can remember, weekend mornings have involved Dad set up on the sofa before anyone else is awake watching soccer. The TV is constantly hissing from the crowd in the stadium and there’s the odd “OH!” or “MAAANNNNN, COMAWWWN!” from my dad. So while all that noise was going on I made breakfast. I rarely lose my appetite when I’m sick. That’s not a thing.
Yogurt, honey, fancy-ass fruits (I love visiting the parents) granola and coconut peanut butter.
All morning I lazed, watched bad food network programs, did a little broken old lady yoga, and then the baking bug bit so I made a batch of cookies. These don’t have butter in them which is blasphemous, I realize, but the coconut oil gives the loveliest after taste.
I was super close to just having cookies for lunch – I’m sick, I do what I want. But I think a rule of visiting the parents is to take advantage of all the good food in their fridge so I had a salad of spinach, mango, pecans, chickpeas and feta with sriracha and balsamic dressing.
The rest of the afternoon involved more lazing, bathing, and eventually napping.
and then my mom woke me up all “Let’s get pizza now.” Solid plan.