Today, I have a peanut brittle confession.
A microwave peanut brittle confession.
(Oh look! A glimpse of my "recession hair" on the microwave door. Don't strain your eyes — it's murky on purpose.)
It could've been so nice...you know, if it weren't all burned and stuff.
Funny little story about my grandson who believes that I live in a magical place all because of my neighbor's shed. You may remember that, like many little boys of three, he's enchanted by all things Thomas the Train.
Grandson: Dad, look! It's Toby!
Son: No, that's Nonni's neighbor's shed.
Grandson: No, Dad, it's Toby!
Son: Well now, that's kind of fun to think about, but it's not really Toby; it's just a shed.
Grandson: But, Dad, he's got wheeeeeeels.
And so the shed does (have wheels) and, after running into Toby today, I'm not so certain that he doesn't live in my neighbor's backyard.
And I do live in a magical place...