Q: Where am I? What is this strange place?

A: The kitchen!

Oh dear. Is this some uncommon side-effect of postpartum depression? Has being at home the past 2 months finally pushed me over the edge? This is not normal behavior. Clearly this is a cry for help!

I’ve been in the kitchen for the past 2+ hours!

And just what have I been doing all afternoon? Prepping for tonight’s dinner! Which doesn’t involve the microwave, defrosting or the telephone. Something is definitely wrong with me.

It all started on Monday when I looked through a couple cookbooks, picked out a few recipes that didn’t look to daunting and added what I was missing to the grocery list. I should have known then that I was headed down a slippery slope.

Tonight I am going to make Pecan-encrusted Chicken. That’s right, I chopped pecans. And parsley. But here is the really sick part – the recipe called for fresh breadcrumbs. I have a container of breadcrumbs in the cupboard. And I didn’t use them. No I did not. I made toast. And then I crumbled that toast into little breadcrumby pieces. Yup, I made fresh breadcrumbs. (FYI, 3 pieces of toast yields 1-½ cups of breadcrumbs)

Who the hell am I?!

And since I was already in the kitchen, I figured I would prep the veggies for the side dish. Now, this was not part of the original try a couple recipes plan. Julie (my own Bad Home Cooking Kitchen Goddess) posted a recipe for Vegetable Couscous on Tuesday that she claims is a ‘sure thing’. And who doesn’t love a sure thing? Or couscous? I even had some in the pantry. In fact I had all the ingredients but the onion and zucchinis. And since I was going to the store again anyways, I figured I would give it a try. I’m clearly easily influenced in this unstable state.

So now I have my pecan-encrusted chicken chillin’ in the fridge. My vegetables are chopped, spices mixed and chickpeas rinsed and drained. When Chris gets home, all I’ll have to do is throw the chicken in the oven, cook the veggies and couscous and it’ll be Miller-time (except without the bad beer).

See?! I’m obviously sick. What’s next? Home-made cupcakes for Kyle’s class?
Oh crap – I already did that.

Promise me that if you see me in the grocery store with pearls around my neck and anything other than Crocs on my feet, you’ll ram me with your cart and drag me to the pharmacy for an emergency dose of some ‘Mother’s Little Helper’. Or Thorazine if the shoes have heels!!!