My kids are food snobs, I think. Or maybe I should amend that to: L. is becoming a food snob, and P. is either a super-discriminating gourmet, or just thinks it’s funnier to watch my expression when he eats scraps
Archive: September 2010
Here’s the thing about being the Red, Round, or Green Mom: Despite what people might think, I really, truly don’t expect that everyone else is going to be as insane as I am about food and cooking. I don’t expect
Whenever you spend time with good friends, I think, there’s an unwritten rule of the universe that dictates that you will think about those people continually for the following several days. I know that’s certainly been the case with me;
I just got finished reading a (relatively vapid, not-so-scientific, largely subjective, fluffy) piece about how I might, according to the article, be “happier than I think.” It proceeded to list a number of “carefully studied” factors that apparently contribute to
Yesterday’s post caught you all up on the dramatic goings-on in the RRG house these days — in short, we took L. to the pediatrician because we suspected some problems, and the brief rundown of the result is: 1) She
What’s the old adage? “You’re only as happy as your unhappiest child?” Any parent knows that to be true, so it’s hardly going to come as a revelation when I say that worrying about your kids — really, substantially worrying
Our kids’ preschool program has a lovely secure members’ page online, where they not only have access to a webcam so you can check on your kids during the day (a very cool bonus, though I don’t often use it),
Sometimes, in the grand scheme of this crazy culinary life of mine, there are days that can only be well-passed if spent in the pursuit of bread. Any bread will do: quick breads, yeast breads, sweet or savory, but bread,
It’s been a heck of a week. P. came down with a raging case of Coxsackie virus, and an ear infection to boot (talk about adding insult to injury!), prompting his doctor to advise us on Monday: “Don’t let him
Yesterday, as I wrote grimly about the lapse in judgment that led J. and me to a processed food coma, and the better head that prevailed when I redeemed myself by creating the soft pretzels that are tucked safely into