This morning I shook my head with bemusement at drivers attempting to navigate wheeley bins that were strewn across the road, (bin day), rather than get off their fat ar*es and move them. Not one of the ignorant **bleeps** thanked me either when I donned shoes and moved them for em, (my bin wasn't one in the street).
Then it was time to wander down to the highstreet for a bank appointment to open an account. When, (if?) I finally start childminding it will be much easier and cheaper, to walk down there to bank any cheques/cash rather than catching a bus into Folkestone. Plus, as I've mentioned before, Halifax have gone bonkers and decided to start charging folkes £1 per day for using their overdrafts - compared to what I was paying is a ginormous increase.
Stopped at the park for play - brrrr the wind was biting though, so after coaxing Rye to follow instead of chasing seagulls, we walked back home, playing "STOP!, GO!". Once home it was time for a fine game of "CRASH".
This involves building up towers then knocking them over with various cars/lorries/tractors etc and shouting "CRASH". It's not a game I can tolerate for long though, and it seemed a perfect afternoon to do some baking. So, while Rye played "CRASH" somemore, I hid in the kitchen making up buscuit dough. Then once it was chilled we cut out snowmen and mini gingerbread men buscuits:
It did take me a few moments to curtail my irritation as Rye stamped out anywhere on the dough - then I realised this is suppose to be fun and it ain't when I'm growling at him and generally being a grump. Once I relaxed we had more fun - and hey he did ok with the cutting out in the end and who cares if the buscuits aren't quite as light as they should be from the numerous scrutching together and re-rolling?
And it wouldn't be any fun without getting covered in flour, right, got that!
Waiting impatiently for the buscuits to cool enough to ice.
I'm a tad suspicious of collourings and sprinkles and what not - plus the price makes me gasp in horror. Still, I think I'll pick up a few natural colourings, this was fun to do and as I'm rubbish at decorating myself, that inner control freak didn't emmerge and show irritation at toddler cackhandiness.
Then it was time to make a start on tea, and as I'd picked up sausages, I decided Toad in the Hole would be anice change - and honestly, I don't recall every making it before.
Rye stirring the yorkshire pud batter.
I've had some issues with yorkshire puds rising since moving into this house, and had come to the conclusion that the fan oven just wasn't yorkshire pud friendly. Half decent ones could be made in the top oven, which isn't fan but still not really how they should be. But as the photo above shows, clearly the secret ingredient is child labour :-)
He doesn't seem to mind too much the graft, so-long he get's to scoff it too.