"Bake bake bake!" he commanded.
"Grraawwwwwrrrrrrrrrr," I responded. As I've mentioned before, my husband is a morning person. And a night person. And an everything-in-between person. The man is cheery, you have to give him that. Of course, at 6:45 in the morning "cheery" looks a lot like "please kick me in the shin!" It's really hard to tell the difference that early.
A few seconds later, he started poking me again.
"Bake bake bake!" Poke poke poke. "Bake bake bake!" Poke poke poke. "Bake bake bake!" Poke poke poke.
"Sweetheart," I said as sweetly as I could at this time of the morning. "I really don't want to get up right now. Thanks for asking, though."
He laughed at me and began pushing me out of bed. Evidently this wasn't going to work for him. Before I ended up in a heap on the floor, I decided I'd better get up on my own instead. I put my feet on the floor and sat up, growling at him, but he was already talking to the dog excitedly. Short attention span, that one.
He was understandably excited, because I was about to rock his world with five sticks of butter.
That's right, I was making The Pioneer Woman's cinnamon rolls this morning.
Technically, I was making them for work, but that didn't stop Jack from claiming the deliciousness for his very own. As he was leaving for work, he told me to thank my work friends for "experimenting" on him.
As I've said before, Jack is very fond of PW recipes. I'm quite sure he would leave me for Ree if given the opportunity. And really, I wouldn't even blame him. I would probably leave him for her too.
When we got to the kitchen, Jack started brewing some coffee for us and I got out the dough I had made the night before and spread flour on the counter so I could roll it out. Jack turned around and saw the flour on the counter and frowned.
"Oh no," he said, very seriously, "you made a mess."
Looking back, it's pretty funny that he thought that was the mess.
Because this is what it looked like when I finished.
Yes. I did make a mess.
Rolling the cinnamon rolls proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated, and Ree's perfect little pictures of perfect little cinnamon rolls certainly didn't help my rolling self esteem.
"Mine aren't very pretty," I pouted.
Jack looked at me like I had just started meowing.
"Didn't you see how much butter you put in them? They're going to taste amazing. They don't have to be pretty, Mandy."
And they weren't. At least, the first batch that I sent with him to work wasn't.
But I don't think he minded.
The second batch, though, that's where I finally figured it out. They were the right size, they were perfectly sealed, and they had the little swirly thing in the middle like they should. They were pretty.
"Eins," he said, as he dropped the first spoonful of sugar in his coffee.
"Zwei." Another spoonful.
"Drei." And a third. Yes, he does take a little coffee with his sugar.
"What are you doing?" I asked, hearing him say funny words from the other side of the kitchen.
"I'm speaking German," he replied matter-of-factly.
"You speak German now?"
"Yes, I have a little German in me," he said.
"You have a German in you?" I responded, being a smart-alec.
"Yeah, just a little one," he said. "He doesn't say much."
Like I said before, I made a huge mess in the kitchen with this little project, and I had to leave it all to get to work on time after all the baking yesterday morning. I was kind of dreading coming home to clean it all up tonight. So when I walked through the door after work to find this instead:
I was pretty thrilled. I think my exact words to the dog were "GOD BLESS YOU, JACK HORNBUCKLE!"
She looked at me like I was the crazy one.