I guess I could stop making the fake versions of things for a while

For some reason, I made faux-tuna salad. With chickpeas. I mean, I really like chickpeas, but I also really like tuna salad, so unless I get crazy-worried about mercury I'll probably just stick with that in the future. As I ate this sandwich I really understood Dan's tempeh/sausage issue--with every bite I thought, "WHY AREN'T YOU TUNA, FAKE TUNA?" Also, the recipe as written is a good jumping off point, but it's woefully lacking in the mustard and pickle areas.

Needs 100 more pickles.

Hey, pizza is good, right? I should probably put some eggs on top of it just to make sure.

Yep, good.

I had some issues with this Ellie Krieger recipe, but mostly just because I used homemade pizza dough and couldn't quite get the temperature/cooking time right for both it and the eggs. I ended up both broiling AND microwaving my piece to make sure the egg white wasn't wiggly, and it rewarded me by popping open exactly like the turkey in Christmas Vacation. Except a little more explode-y. I was covered in a fine mist of egg-shrapnel. I still really enjoyed this pizza. That's how good pizza is, intrinsically.

Anna's development from moderately cranky toddler to fine-tuned, razor-sharp tantrum-throwing machine means that getting dressed is now a violent and time-consuming endeavor. Therefore, she is frequently wearing a diaper and no clothing:

Easier cleanup, works for me.

Or vice versa:

This is a dangerous game indeed.

She did take a break in her busy schedule of acting like a lunatic to hang out with Cash on his birthday. Look how almost-tolerant she's being of this sweet birthday hug!

Not screaming = win win win. Sardonic glances are perfectly acceptable.

What I figured out this morning at Phil's Icehouse is that she's simply lacking a sympathetic confidante.

"No one understands me but you, weird blue cow."