Monday Monday

Easter is coming, and this is Spring Break. MG is down visiting her Mom for the week, and I find myself in a quiet house, no teenager, and the constant button pushing that is texting is absent from the air. The talk of who is dating who, who did what to whom, and who is going to something to the other is falling on other ears than my own, or her father's. 

Have no fear, though, we will make up a weeks time in one quick afternoon next Saturday. And I have plenty to do this week, to get ready for new floors (tired of hearing that, yet?) and for Easter. We are going to middle sister's house this year.

I am, apparently, making a Pie (or two) and as usual. Pulla. 

Cami, my lovely cousin, has waxed on poetic many times about Pulla. She makes it whenever she wants it. There is nothing wrong with that, at all. I happen to make it only at Easter time, which is when it was traditionally served. My fear is that if I eat it too often, it won't, somehow, taste as good, or be as special. So, Easter it is. This week is my week to make Pulla. And, unlike Cami, I don't have a bread machine to make it rise. I do it the 'old' way.

So, off I go, into Betty Crocker land. First, though, I gotta figure out what kind of pie my father wants....