Morphine "Bought Myself A Steak"

For the last month or so, my Mother-In-Law has been ever-so-kind enough to pick up my two kids from their pre-school/daycare on Thursdays, and keep them for an overnight.

It's hugely fun for the kids, as they are often joined by other cousins, uncles and members of our extended/modern family.

And it's been lovely for my wife and I, because it has provided a little bit of space.  For one night a week, we're not rushing home to get dinner on the table.  Or fighting the long set of skirmishes that must be waged in the battle of "It's Time For Bed."  Or plowing through all that to remember there is still housework or work-work to get through before bed.

Last night, I reealllly got a taste of space, when my wife spent the night visiting her cousin.

I was home alone.

So what did I do?  I bought myself a steak.

My wife loves steak.  And over the course of our marriage (with some key instruction from Alton Brown), she has learned how to make a steak better than any restaurant I've ever been in.

But she hates London Broil.

Too tough, she says.

But the flavor, I say.

I never win that argument.

But last night, I didn't have to argue.  Not with my son about why he can't wear his Monkey pajamas, since they are inside the washing machine.  Not with my daughter about how the cat will not eat corn, so please stop trying to take it off your plate and throw it under the table.  And not with my wife about the pros and cons of London Broil.  (Not even with Mark Sandman---I don't like mushrooms on my steak)

I bought myself a steak and ate it in silence.

And that's as good as it gets sometimes.