Toast and a Post

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I just threw some Midnight French Toast in the oven.  Yesterday was my husband's first day working from home.  His company recently decided that having a real office with real rent was really boring, and told it's people (the ones it didn't "lay off") they'd have to work at home.  Although it left us both feeling apprehensive (we are not fans of change), it's fun having him here.  His breaks mean popping into whatever room I'm in for a kiss or a little conversation.  So I made gingersnaps, attempted cornbread, and put together some Midnight French Toast for breakfast today.  It's really nice to have your best friend at home - and at the same time you are home!  A double blessing, to be sure.
I wonder if baking for our families is something of a lost art, like letter-writing.  (I can't remember the last time I spontaneously sat down with any sort of frilly stationary to write a letter with a PEN - not counting the thank you notes I wrote after the wedding). I did just pull the French toast out of the oven, though, and my family is merrily munching away.

My mom stayed home with us kids, and although it meant a lot of sacrifices for my folks, she always had ready for us the yummiest food.  Pea soup and cornbread for lunch in the winter, hot chocolate with tiny coloured marshmallows after school, and the cookie jar was bottomless.  I have a very different lifestyle.  It's hard to measure up to what she did for us - the house is never clean enough around here - but I try to cook and bake for my family as much as I can.  It's a little like painting in the kitchen.