The kids and I were sitting at the table having lunch and discussing Shakespeare (we're reading A Comedy of Errors at the moment) this afternoon when we heard Andrew say from the kitchen, "Alexa, how much time is left on the timer?"
We knew he had dough proofing in the oven; he'd planned to make pretzels for dinner.
His pretzels are the best.
"You have two minutes remaining on your ten minute timer," Alexa told him.
"UGH!" he moaned.
Everyone at the table exchanged looks. It's not usual for Andrew to be so emotional.
"Pretty sure you'll survive two minutes," I said, my voice dripping with fake sympathy.
"But I'm so tired!" he huffed.
Everyone at the table exchanged looks again. Because literally what was his plan at...noon. Nap time?
Now, this is rich coming from a lady who treasures an afternoon nap with her toddler nearly every day. I see that. But, like, seriously, Andrew doesn't usually nap in the middle of the day. And would two minutes really throw off any napping plans that he evidently had?
He can be so weird sometimes!
A split second later I had to jump up from the table to grab something from the kitchen—probably a cloth to clean up something Phoebe had spilled or something—and when I walked into the kitchen I saw Andrew pounding away at dough on the kitchen counter.
"Oh!" I said. "You're kneading!"
Then I had to tell everyone else, so I said louder, "Guys—he's kneading!"
"Oh!" came a chorus of voices from the table.
"What...did...you...think...I...was...doing?" Andrew asked, accentuating each word with a punch of the dough.
"Honestly? We thought you were just...sitting around...waiting for the dough to finish proofing or something."
We all had a good laugh about that little mix up.
Andrew's been nothing but industrious lately! He patched up the drywall in the cursed bathroom (scaring the kids by making the whole like four times bigger than it was at first, but evidently it's easier to patch a large hole than a small hole, from what he learned while he was researching techniques).