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Browsing Tag: food

Somebody Ate All the Crab Chips, Too

I have to be honest with you: unless they’re eating fruit or celery or something gloriously healthy (“Mom? Do we have anything else?” “NO.”), I make most of the snacks we give our kids. I know. I’m rolling my eyes at me, too. But bear with me as I explain. David and I are trying to consciously cut back on all the trash we produce (well, mainly me. David tries but he really likes Pop-Tarts and those Herr’s Crab Chips, and there’s no zero waste aficionado on earth who can convince him to, I don’t know, dig his own potatoes and make his own. Though I’ve probably tried). I know it sounds hippie, but I’ve always been like this, really, and well…I don’t know. We’re trying. If I can fill a thermos instead of buying a water bottle, I’ll do it. I’m not crazy, just inherently guilt-ridden. Anyway. So. Because of my naturally hippie ways, combined with a way-too well-versed knowledge of all the different forms of MSG…

Tough Crowd

We’re in the car (again, always), heading home from school. Saoirse asks me what we’re having for dinner.“Quesadillas,” I say. “Tomatoes. Avocados.” They don’t need to know that I’m going to gourmet the shit out of those quesadillas. Or that those beautiful red and orange tomatoes ripening on our counter will turn into the simplest, best pico de gallo ever. You’ll see why. I can hear the children groan, quietly, in the back seat. “Avocados?!” says Cian. “YUCK.” “Thank you, buddy,” I reply. I forget that toddlers don’t compute sarcasm until he reminds me. “NO,” he says. “I said yuck.” They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m wondering at what point my children will learn that the way to their mother’s heart is just to be quiet and eat whatever gruel she puts in front of them. Because, apparently it’s gruel. The avocados, I mean.   &nbsp…

That’s Just the Stomach Virus Talking

David picked up sushi for dinner the other night. It was Sunday, and the end of a particularly grumpy weekend. Most of the house was sick, with Cian and I warily eyeing everybody else, telepathically trying to ward off the germs, wondering if quarantine in a nearby hotel (with a pool, and a spa, and babysitting services) should be in order. David slept more in one day than I think he’s slept in the last five years. I was scrubbing preschooler barf out of our bedroom carpet. The washing machine wept from overuse.  You get the idea. And since nobody was cooking, we brought food in. Because what else does a person crave after he comes out the other side (BWAHAHA) of a stomach bug? Why, raw fish, of course! You may have your Sunday roasts, with carrots and potatoes in the slow cooker, or you–yeah,  you over there–were contentedly standing over your grill that evening, flipping burgers with one hand while drinking some cold beer from a can with the other. But we? Over in the “vintage” split-level across the street from the new subdivision? We’re bringing home…