Category: Feeding kids

Since I started this blog, the most common question I get from people is: “How in the world do you have time to get everything done?”  I usually sort of feint and parry and demur a bit — I hardly

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Toddlers, oy!  That’s all I can think when I reflect on the events of last night’s dinner at our house.  I keep shaking my head, both in disbelief and in fits of self-doubt, as I recall exactly how things unfolded

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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

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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;

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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

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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

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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),

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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,

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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

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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

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