My kingdom for an infinity sign because, let me tell you, the past couple of days have been a corker. Rest? What rest? Hah! There were no actual "yes, see, this is Amanda, exercising!" periods during either day, but rather endless movement, of the tiring and boring variety. None of it was as intense in the moment as one of my workouts tends to be, but considering my natural state is best described as "bonded to the couch", I have a feeling I ultimately burned more than I would have if I'd just done my workouts and then planted myself in front of the computer.
This weekend featured The Great De-Fleaing of the house, which has to occur at least once per quarter thanks to the four-legged members of our household. We have been invaded by these horrible, pesticide-resistant fleas, and the best we can do is just stay slightly ahead of the nasty little bastards. We spray the yard, we spray the house, we vacuum, we use the flea meds on the dog and cats, and it's just an endless, brutal cycle. I even had pest control come out once because I was terrified we were infested (my skin crawls just thinking about it), and after the bug guy stopped laughing he told Choreboy there was no way we were infested, that he didn't see even one flea while he was there, and that we just needed to keep doing what we were doing.
So we do. And god, it's making me insane. Moving furniture, vacuuming, spraying underneath, removing all cushions, vacuuming those, spraying, coating all the damned carpet in the house and every nook and cranny, all while keeping the cats isolated in the Elder's bedroom which had been treated the previous day -- and let me tell you, those felines do not appreciate what we do for them -- arrrgh!!!
Oh well. True infestation would make me battier. But I'm thinking not by much.
In addition to the flea control festivities, yesterday was St. Patrick's Day which some folks use as an excuse to consume mass quantities of beer, and which I use as an excuse to consume mass quantities of carbohydrates and delicious, fatty, processed meat. In other words, soda bread, beer cheese bread, and corned beef brisket.
I don't bake much anymore, because I am a complete carb fiend if left unfettered access to baked goods so I really have to keep it under control. I used to just feed whatever I'd made to Choreboy but then he labeled my cookbook "Amanda's 'Let's Make The Husband Fatter' Book" so I had to, uhm, take a teensy hint? :) But it was time, and I'd been wanting to make both breads. They turned out wonderfully. This is the soda bread:
I read further about soda bread after I'd put this into the oven, and it turns out that this isn't historically accurate as it includes both raisins and sugar. In this form, it's more properly known as cake, which makes sense to me! But it was good. The carraway seeds in it add just the right touch.
And the beer cheese bread rocked my world. The Gum Zombie and I both share an unholy fixation with Alton Brown's Good Eats (RIP to the show, dagnabbit), and this is one of his recipes:
I made it with a pale Irish ale and Kerrygold Dubliner cheese. It was amazing.
And yes, this splurge remains in the weekend and won't be carried forward into the work week. The remains of both loaves are wrapped up and awaiting transport to the office in the morning, because although I've been able to hold myself to a slice of each per day I am reaching the end of my willpower. Thankfully, my coworkers are not afflicted with my need to count every calorie and will consume these with great speed and barely-restrained glee.
I love the fact that I work with 90% males. It makes life so much easier, especially when it comes to disposing of excess baked goods.
Now I've just got to pry myself out of bed at 5:00 AM tomorrow. It's time. Have a good one, folks.
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