Yesterday morning as I used the last bit of butter on Henry's toast, I noticed that my fancy Provence-style butter dish looked pretty glommed up with butter. I planned to wash it later that day after I dealt with all my kids' mouth issues, which can only be detailed in a later post.
My mom came over to watch the youngest boy, who was still recovering from giving up his tonsils and adenoids on what will probably be the only snow day we'll have all year. She ended up staying most of the day.
Later, as I prepped for dinner, I opened the butter dish to clean it and noticed that the lid didn't stick to the bottom as it had that morning. My mom had already taken care of it.
And she never said a word about it.
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