Raclette...mm, mm, mmmmmm

Need I say more?

Best Saturday tea in ages - and the left over veg I roasted on the grill, froze and had tonight in a risotto. Yum.

Nothing more to say.

Why can I not get to bed early?

This isn't really going to be a blog post. This is going to be a chocolate-denied rant. (it's been almost two weeks!)

I want to go to bed early, not work from 7am to 11pm with a couple of hours of travelling in between. I want to get up at 8am, not 6am having turned off the light at 12am the night before. I want to be able to read for pleasure and relax whilst doing it, not read for 20 minutes at 11.30pm, feeling all the while guilty that I should be asleep. I want to know when to quit ranting in blogs and to get up and walk away to bed to sleep, rather than to read more about poor old Blackfish and consider how I can help release them all. (Who needs sleep?)

I want to cook lovely, time-consuming teas, lunches, breakfasts even, for my (we are) family and see the look on their faces when I put it on the table. So what if the looks range from tears (Little Biggie) to mild, curious disgust (Biggie) to adoration (Husband#1 - there's a reason I love him!)? I just want to do it every day, not just every now and then. Experimental falafel bake tomorrow. Will update with the results from Grimace Watch.

I want to snuggle up to Husband#1 (whilst he's still here) for longer than 5 minutes every morning before we both jump out of bed screaming we're late, only to discover it is 6.13am and have to jump back in for another 30 seconds (thank goodness for the superstitious Husband#1!).

I get good holidays to see my gals, relax and cook, but I want to live my life each day and not waiting for the weekend as I currently do - collapsing on the settee with a (proudly homemade-from-scratch) pizza by 8.30pm at the latest. Last week we'd eaten it by 7.30pm and were in bed asleep by 9pm. I want to be able to take my gal to school every day and see those ginormous smiles every day at picking-up time. I want to spend time with Husband#1 before he leaves me (Little Granny told me he inevitably would this morning) and I have to start looking out for Husband#2 - so glad I gave Husband#1 a moniker right from the start of this blog. Face-saving, I think; almost as if planned. Fed up of snatching twenty minutes of chat during the gal-related madness that is 6pm - 7pm each evening (favourite, yet most frenetic part of the day). Fed up of waking my beauties up too early for their own good. Only saver there is the fact that I get to do it every morning and carry each one through to our bed separately (there is a rota for who get's Mummy's side as opposed to Daddy's side, which is strictly adhered to) whilst the stretch and yawn like little cuddly dormice, until they randomly trump. I think it's the law?

Ah, it's not all bad, I suppose :-)