Category: food

When Your Son Thinks He’s a Dog

There’s no way to avoid it, kids are curious, gross little creatures.

Just when you think your precious little cupcake couldn’t top their latest and greatest display of grotesqueness, you find out they have other vile tricks up their sleeve.

This past Thanksgiving, our dog had a litter of puppies. This was the first time my family had

Dear Men…Take the Photo

The Chips Fight


Since we conceived our crying one year old, I’ve been very controlled about what I eat. I’m not a big meat eater but I force-fed myself protein the entire 41 weeks. Now, not one chip touches my lips due to my husband’s apparent need for them (he wipes out the pantry).

Today, I had broccoli and a

Lost the Battle, Not the War!

There I am. Standing in the budget section of the grocery store. Arms piled high in frozen dinners I’ll be lucky enough to enjoy, let alone cook, the remainder of the week. I’ve missed at least two shifts in two days of my two part time jobs, and these are the groceries this week. The

We All Scream for Ice Cream

No Way!

Raising a Teenager

It’s time to leave for my vacation: a warm beach, the hot sun, and Corona with lime. A much-needed break from my parental responsibilities.
I knock tepidly on Richard’s bedroom door, and enter with his consenting grunt. For an 18-year-old boy who favors tattoos and can fit 17 straws through the holes in his ears, it’s fairly clean. It’s the mystery of what’s hidden in drawers, boxes and under the bed that entice me but keep me from searching. Better not to know.
In my left hand is his list of reminders; the boy does have ADD tenancies.

My goal is to make sure he hears me and understands me, then to place the paper securely where he will have frequent access to it–the refrigerator door.

On my list is the following:
1. In an emergency, call Aunt Dawn.
2. Feed the dog. Daily.
3. Prepared meals are in the freezer. They are microwaveable. Do NOT use

Gluten-Free Pizza is a Fire Hazard


Eight years into motherhood, I like to think that I’ve hit my stride. I’m not a perfect mother, but most days my family staggers through its routine without collapsing. Then as inevitable as laundry, I trip and fall – often taking my family with me. The most recent pothole in my path – gluten-free pizza.

Gluten-free pizza became my nemesis on a day that seemed ordinary until dinner. I put chicken in the crockpot late in the afternoon. At 5:30 it was time to roast vegetables. I opened a package of cut butternut squash and discovered that it had welcomed a new friend into its package–mold.

Since mold isn’t on the list of foods my daughters will actually eat, I threw it and the squash away. We couldn’t have a dinner of just chicken, so what to do? Plan B was to serve focaccia bread and broccoli as sides. I pulled both

Apples? Oranges? Sperrys?

Where you your kids leave their shoes? Not in the fruit bowl we hope.

Just A Trip To The Corner Store

I woke up this morning looking forward to a cold glass of Pepsi. It’s my one addiction. When I opened the fridge I realized someone else had already been into the Pepsi and there was only one flat mouthful left.


Wait–we could make a quick run to the store for Pepsi.

Then I looked around. The baby was sleeping, the girls were still in pajamas, both with dirty faces, and the car seats weren’t in the car. It wasn’t worth the hassle of getting everyone ready and fighting with the car seats for the three-minute drive to the store.

I decided that the last mouthful of Pepsi would have to do until my husband could bring more home, and I started my long to-do list for the day.

Half an hour later, attempting to find the dirty laundry, I walked into the bathroom. My recently toilet trained daughter must have just been in there.

Why Inappropriate Laughter is the Best Kind

Twenty eight hours ago, I was saved by laughter.

I was holding my dog on a leash in the freezing cold, spraying hydrogen peroxide down her throat. Before you call the ASPCA, let me explain.

Twenty eight hours ago, my dog consumed half of a Mississippi mud cake, made with pure cocoa. As soon as I found the evidence (or lack thereof), I called my little brother, a vet in California, for advice. He said, “You need to make her vomit. A lot.”

He told me how to do it and as soon as my husband got home from work, I went outside with my supplies and my oldest son, hoping to prevent a visit to the local emergency vet.

And right there, in the middle of the yard, watching my dog empty her stomach, I was completely hysterical.

To say that yesterday was a hard day would be an understatement. After having been up

Saturday Night Party at Walmart

Walmart is really crowded on a Saturday night. Way more crowded than you would expect. I know this information first hand because I was there.

I was actually, voluntarily, at Walmart on a Saturday night. Yup.

What was I doing at Walmart on a Saturday night? Sit back and I’ll tell you a little tale about how I will literally (clearly) do anything to get my five year old to stop harassing me.

It started on a Monday. On Monday Jessica decided she wanted candy. Not just any candy. A very specific candy.

She didn’t know the name of the candy. Couldn’t really describe the candy. And was not exactly sure where the candy could be purchased. But she wanted it, and she wanted it bad. Was it M&Ms? (No.) Hershey Kisses? (No.) Kit Kat? (No, It’s colorful.) Okay, Skittles? (No.) Starburst? (No.) Twizzlers? (No.) Ummmm… ooookay… You sure it’s not M&Ms? (MOM!!)

On Tuesday


How To Have A Nice, Quiet Dinner With Two Small Children

5:00 pm: Locate the one, specific plate they will each condescend to eat off of. They will usually be dirty. Clean them.

5:05 pm: Fill their plates with food. Be sure to include:
a. One food they will almost definitely eat (this will be something that only technically qualifies as food, like Chef Boyardee or hot dogs).
b. One food they might, possibly, in a fit of wild adventureness, decide to try one bite of before spitting out (this will be something unassuming looking, like rice, or maybe carrots).
c. One food they will never in a million years touch but which you feel you must put on their plates for your own peace of mind (this will be something green).

5:20 pm: Make your own dinner. This will be leftovers, since after cooking for the kids you don’t have time to cook for yourself.

5:22 pm: Call the kids to the table.

5:23 pm: Kid #1

The Happiest Meal?

It was summertime. My kids had “free happy meal” coupons from the library and since they very rarely have fast food, they were particularly excited about it. Daddy-O was working late so it was the perfect day for a special treat. We got our happy meals and buckled into the car to drive to a new playground that was VERY close to the restaurant. I knew the smell of French fries was too hard to resist so I told them they could snitch one or two but to please save the rest for the playground.

Three minutes later we parked at the playground and one of the children—I won’t name names—announced, “I’m done with everything, even all of the apple juice!” Great. Thanks for listening, Pal.

I spread a blanket out on the ground and helped each of the other kids with their happy meals—opening straws and inserting into drinks, opening and

There’s A Crazy Lady Egging Her Car–Oh Wait, That’s Me.

What is that smell?

Every time we got in our minivan there was a horrible stench. My husband compulsively checked under the seats for lost sippy cups filled with rancid milk. He scoured every nook and cranny for the source of that smell.

Only I knew that the smell was rotten eggs from that time I lost it in the grocery store parking lot and egged the interior of my minivan.

I blame it on those horrible car-shaped grocery carts. We would pull into the parking lot and my boys, ages two and three, would whine and whimper until we found one. And once they were buckled in the car cart, all they wanted to do was get out of it.

The trick was to not let the cart come to a complete stop. So I found myself pushing it ten feet in front of me while I stayed behind to haphazardly grab what

My Kids Hate My Pancakes (and I’m OK with that)

Maybe it’s living in the age of social media, where everyone puts only her best foot forward. We see posts and updates and subconsciously can feel a need to make our own lives look as nice and neat and tied-up-with-a-bow as what we see from all these friends, relatives and… “friends.”

I know I can be guilty of feeling this way.

Recently, I started a blog. I wanted to make a post of a new, easy little recipe I had heard about and take pictures of us making it, cooking it, and my kids joyfully eating what I, mother extraordinaire, had whipped up for breakfast. (I was feeling very proud of myself in advance.)

Saturday morning, I made the concoction (banana + egg = pancake, basically), and took pics along the way. I swished into the family room like Donna Reed, proudly setting the plates down and picking up my phone to start

Yes, I’m Not Ashamed to Admit It

I was standing at the kitchen counter with a glass of red wine in one hand and a Krispy Kreme doughnut with Key Lime filling in the other. My husband was laughing at me. I didn’t care.

I started a new job that was full-time in the office instead of part-time at home. I was working really

Marshmallow Jesus

At this time of year–approaching Easter–a couple of hands-on lessons about Jesus’ death and resurrection start to make the rounds in Christian circles.  They’re recipes where the final product (either cookies or rolls) are puffed up, yet empty–like the tomb on the third day.

I love lessons that involve learning while you actually DO something. So we tried one recipe when my kids were five and eight years old, and it although it was certainly hands-on, it didn’t turn out quite as I imagined.

Resurrection Rolls

Refrigerated crescent rolls

Melted butter

Large marshmallows



1.  Give each child a triangle of crescent rolls.  The crescent roll represents the cloth that Jesus was wrapped in.  Read Matthew 27: 57-61.

2.  Give each child a marshmallow.  This represents Jesus.

3.  Have him/her dip the marshmallow in

And What Does Your Mother Do?

We were on vacation, five people crammed into a tiny hotel room. I told the kids they needed to find something to do for a few minutes so I could shower and the husband could get the car.

“It must be hard,” my seven-year-old son said.


“Trying to take care of yourself when you have to take