I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. Julia Child said this. A recipe, then. It’s an easy one, and a nutritious one, and it requires five minutes and a blender. No knots, no excuses, no explanations. I like to dress it up when I make
On balance, then. What we have come to think about balance, of equal parts work and play and rest and love and parenting and cubicles and zoos and coffee and gym? What we have come to think about the balancing of these activities, of these roles, of these doings is wrong. Do you want balance?
“I like Dad better than you.” Well, she said it. My fear had materialized in a single statement, and you know, the context of these things matter. I had thought she’d say it in the midst of a lecture, or when I was asking her to do a Not Fun thing that perhaps Ken doesn’t
I am continually shying away from sharing Hows. I don’t know, it just seems like my favorite advice has always been to throw caution to the wind and dig your own ditch. But here’s a story: I dog-sat for my mother-in-law this weekend. She is a lovely tiny Oreo-spotted dog that doesn’t bark, a rare
Well, I’m writing a book. I’ve been writing it for, oh, five months, and I have nearly one month to go, and whoa, that is soon, isn’t it? I will not stop blogging. Writing in these wee hours of the morning is the best thing for me, it is just the best thing for me.
I don’t know; it’s just that I should probably tape it all to my fridge: When you feel hungry, but nothing sounds good, you’re actually just thirsty. Drink some water, lady. Good gracious. Everyone yells. There is grace for today. Do not order the jeans online. They will not fit, and jeans are not on
Bee. Last week, you played with Barnacles, Peso, Shellington, Kwazii, Dashy and Trick (whom I am mispronouncing, you tell me). They are your friends in Ecuador, and they are found in the treetops, but sometimes they move to the fish pond and you must call them each, one by one, until they float to the
A few years ago, Ken and I hosted our family Christmas. We had 16 mouths to feed and a handful of picky kids, so the menu chose us: a pasta bar. To the voices of Bing Crosby and David Bowie, we stir butter noodles and simmer heirloom tomatoes and begin to prep the star of
