Oh, Shiny New Oven

 How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways:

- Chewy Oatmeal Cookies (twice! I'm a believer in freezing dough and then making each batch fresh when I want a cookie)
- Blueberry Cobbler (then Strawberry Cobbler with some leftover dough)
- Pots de Lavande (translation: little ramequins of lavender cream. Ok, actually Julien made these.  Upon my request.  Yum.)
- Baked Ham and Pineapple, Martinique-style
- An Asparagus Quiche (Very tasty*, and an old-fav I haven't made in a long time.)
- Apple Butter

And all that since Tuesday evening.

Next up on the list: Brisket.


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* An American acquaintance and her husband visited us while we were living in Paris.  I made this for them and they, especially she, when on and on about how good it was.  She asked me for the recipe, but when she saw that I had torn it out of an American magazine, she didn't want it.

"It's written in English," says she when I hand her the paper.
"Um, yeah."
She shrugs and lays it on the kitchen counter. "I thought it was French."
I shake my head, bewildered. "So you don't want it?"
She wrinkles her nose, shakes her head, and walks out of the kitchen.

What a snot. I guess only a French recipe could have impressed her friends because, you know, I'm sure they would have tasted a difference. O.o

I only thought it was going to be one of those days

This morning, at the breakfast table, I broke a front tooth.  Not the tooth actually, just the laminate cap that evens out my front teeth.

Julien had to go back to work for the first time since leaving Mayotte.  Poor fellow wasn't feeling particularly excited. I had a blah attitude towards the day on his behalf.  I get to stay home, but he has to go back to the grind.

After I took him to work, I realized the washing machine that we just paid much dinero to have repaired (ouch!) had not rinsed or spun the load I put in before breakfast. I ran it again without soap and got the same results.  I tried a lighter load and the machine seemed to do OK.  I was getting ready to go to my appt with a midwife when it started raining on my already-soaking-wet towels, so I had to gather them up and put them on a rack in the bathtub to dry while I hurried off.  

The road to the midwife's office was full of slow zones, making me think I was going to be late. When I arrived in the town (not one I know) I realized the route I had scoped out on mappy was no good because it began with a one-way...going in the wrong direction.

But then, amazingly, I aimed my car in the general direction of where I knew her office to be, found a spot right in front of it without even realizing I had arrived.  The sun came out. I was on time. And I had an utterly fantastic meeting with her.  It seems my rotten luck with French medical staff is turning.

I'm 4.5 months along. The baby appears to be doing great. I got to hear the heartbeart. And I found a good soul to give me birth classes and do my monthly checkups.  The only downside: She doesn't do the delivery.  But she recommended to the hospital where she used to work, where midwives and not gynos deliver the babies, so I think things might work out all right after all. 

Sometimes you get to beat the odds, even when it is a Monday, and turn "one of those days" into the fine and dandy variety.