playdate

Hiya, Cupcake!

 

When my sister offered to bake the cake for Bee’s fourth birthday party a few weeks ago, I happily accepted. I told her to confer with her niece over the cake’s specifications, and that whatever they came up with would be fine with me.

I didn’t hear anything about the cake leading up to the day of the party, but when my sister walked through the door, I definitely expected to see her carting something pink, heavily decorated with sparkles and sprinkles, and exclaiming all sorts of  princess-y tackiness loveliness.

Just Call Me Old Mother Hubbard

My cupboards are pretty bare right now. And I mean, preeeeety bare. Thanks to some bad work/pay/life timing, I have not been able to get to the grocery store in ages. So, last night, when I rushed home following work and a meeting to begin my 8th night of solo nighttime parenting, I was seriously chuffed to find that my pantry had not been miraculously stocked since I last looked in it.

We were down to pretty much the basics. I looked in the fridge,and didn’t find much inspiration there, either. Same goes for the freezer – though I did have some Mayan Chocolate Gelato from Ed’s still left. But there was not enough to make a meal for all three of us, so I put it away to eat all by myself when the kids were finally in bed  for dessert another day. 

Be My Guest

So, my lovely sister is in town, and I am being spoiled rotten. She is playing with my kids, tidying my house and so far, cooking every dinner we have eaten together for a week. And I don’t mean wieners and beans here, folks, I mean glorious stir-frys, salmon patties, robust soups and last night, ridiculously amazing tacos, filled with homemade pseudo refried beans, a tofu-corn succotash kind of thing and pineapple salsa. I did mention that she’s supposed to be MY guest, right?

Bitter Tears

This year, for our Passover Seder, I bravely offered to make the brisket. If you are at all familiar with a Passover Seder, then you know that the brisket is the shining star of the meal. Happy to pass the torch to the next generation, my beleaguered mother cooked the (mock) chicken soup, matzo balls, farfalle and mushrooms, lemon chicken, roasted potatoes, steamed veggies, all the fixings for the Seder plate, and several desserts. I could handle the brisket, right?

Heh, Heh - She Said 'Bush'

On Saturday, my brood and me headed out on a chilly but sunny morning, and took part in a great (Southern-Central) Canadian tradition – heading to the sugar bush to celebrate the greatest of all Canadian inventions, maple syrup. Yum. And, yum.

We went to the same place we went last year, although I did get it mixed up with the place we went apple-picking in the fall, and ended up guiding us on a very slow, if not scenic, tour of places with names like Lowville and Cambelville and Yourcopilotingskillzsuckville and We’rehalfwaytobuttfucknowheresville.

The Plan

There's been lots of talk around the blogosphere regarding weekly meal plans, and I figured that since, hey, I write a food column and like to help people eat healthy, easy to prepare family meals, I would weigh in too.

I don’t make a weekly meal plan.

Well, ok, I’ve already copped to the fact that I indulge in a partly-sentimental, partly-OCD meal log, but that is an after-the-fact record, and only helps me plan future meals by reminding me that we have already eaten lentil soup eight times this month, and maybe I should try something different.

Marking the Days, One Meal at a Time

I have never filled in a baby book. I have never scrapbooked, and while there are a collection of nearly 10,000 pictures of my children sitting on an external hard-drive in the office, only about 1% of them have ever been printed. I’ve taken my children for professional photos twice, and have managed to send out family holiday cards exactly zero times.

I have never balanced a checkbook, and while I do make grocery lists, I have never remembered to actually bring a list with me to the grocery store.

Funny then that I have managed to record what my family has eaten for dinner, every evening, going on three years now.

Slow Night

The thing I love most about my slow cooker – oh hi! Didn’t see you come in; have a seat, grab a coffee. *ahem*. As I was saying, the thing I love most about my slow cooker is that it allows me to prepare food on a weeknight that I would normally never have time for. I mean, I work, people. Yes, it is an early schedule, and I am home before 5, but the last thing I want to do when I get home (and the last thing my kids want me to do) is rush past them into the kitchen so that I can start cooking.

Valentine’s Day – Up In Smoke

On mine and Chris’ first Valentine’s Day together, I wanted to show my hot new boyfriend just how good he had it, and went balls to the walls for the inaugural Karen & Chris celebrate V-Day. Lingerie, nice wine, candles… I prepared the scene, reclined on the couch and waited for my man to come home for his surprise. And I waited. And I waited. And I gave up on the sexy pose, pulled the overpriced lingerie out of my butt-crack, pulled a blanket over me because I was freezing (why is Valentine’s Day in February?) drank a glass of wine and waited some more.

Germ Bustin', Slow Cookin' Goodness

There has been a plague upon us.

1 three-year old + 1 one-year old x 3 playdates/weekÖ 4 months of winter

= snot.

Lots of it. Back and forth, from one child to another, from November until May.

Add in a bout or two of the pukes, and that right there is a recipe for a good time.