I had spent the afternoon repurposing leftovers because I am the only person in our family who doesn’t mind reheating and eating meals in their original form.
The ham bone was simmering in the dutch oven on top of the stove when Liam opened our side door and started kicking off his boots. He sniffed the air.
“It smells good, doesn’t it? It’s pea soup,” I answered.
“It can’t be pea soup; I hate pea soup. Seriously, what’s that delicious smell?”
“It’s still pea soup.”
“Yuck,” he grumbled. “What’s for dinner?”
“What do you think? Soup!”
“Can I have leftovers?”