• welcome home to the circus

    For my birthday, my husband got me a bottle of wine. Welcome home to the circus, he wrote on the card.

    “I  picked it out because of the label,” he said. (Which I happen to think is a totally legitimate wine-shopping technique.)

    Later I had the kids pose with the wine.

    What a bunch of punks.

    Speaking of punks, while I was away, the older two dressed up in black and had my younger son take pictures.

    Apparently, after my son picked up his new, mostly all-black uniform from the city rescue squad (he now holds memberships in two squads), they got inspired.

    My little twits, acting all tough. It totally cracked me up.

    Back to the birthday.

    The house was scrubbed clean (at my very specific and much-repeated request), and the kids gave me enough candy and chocolate to keep me going for a long time. My older daughter presented me with a mammoth box of Eggo waffles because Stranger Things. (I made her watch the first episode because I am an evil mother who delights in scaring her children.* She loved it. She also spent the night on our floor.)

    The kids had never eaten Eggos and were intrigued. My older daughter calls them “Eggles” and likes catching them when they pop out of the toaster.

    My younger daughter made me a cheesecake.

    It  was perfect: creamy, smooth, and utterly delicious.

    *I only scare the
    children who enjoy being scared. Promise.
  • the soirée of 2016

    This last weekend, my aunt held her annual soirée. Just like the other soirées, this one was delectable, relaxing, rejuvenating, and entertaining.

    There were only three meals, but we spent about eight hours eating, or at least lingering around the table.

    Lunch lasted nearly four hours: appetizers and mojitos, roasted red pepper soup, a crazy-fabulous salad that included fresh fennel, fava beans, and roasted grapes, brisket, potatoes in cream, parsley and red onion salad, ice cream sandwiches, wine, and coffee. And then, several hours later, we went to a fancy restaurant where we sat on the deck overlooking the river and feasted some more. I’m not even going to try listing the food because we ate everything. (I’m surprised they didn’t think we were undercover food critics.)

    The next morning we breakfasted on the porch. A cheese plate (or two) was involved, plus fresh breads and scones. Fruit salad. Granola. Even a platter of mini cupcakes to celebrate my birthday.

    Can you guess Baby Boy’s middle name? Hint: note the box.

    In between the eating, we went bowling and stayed up way late talk-talk-talking. Auntie gifted us cute jars of homemade lemon sugar scrub and gold bracelets, oo-la-la. (And we gave her a few little things, too.)

    And then, just like that, the weekend was over. We rolled home over the mountains, stuffed to the gills and so relaxed we could barely keep our eyes open (speaking for myself, that is).

    The end!

    This same time, years previous: getting shod, the quotidian (9.29.14), pointless and chatty, 37, the skirt, ciabatta, stream of consciousness, and beef with black pepper and red wine.

  • the quotidian (9.26.16)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Apple pears: a taste-testing splurge.

    Hot buttered rolls: we devoured 40 in less than 24 hours.
    Tomatoes in cream sauce, chopped and with basil, for over pasta.

    Careful!

    Calling a friend to report on her folly.
    (She tried to ride a sheep and sprained her arm.)

    Papa braids.
    The hub.

    Flick.

    Rain, finally.

    “No matter where you are from, we’re glad you’re our neighbor.”

    This same time, years previous: better than cake, home cut, test your movies!, the run around, the quotidian (9.24.12), thousand island slaw with roast chicken, hurdle-free molten brownie cakes, a jiggle on the wild side, and roasted butternut squash salad.