Confession time.
Yes. Again. Apologies, but this does seem to be a good forum for such things.
I have been slacking lately in the meal department. Purchasing and preparing meals is a household task that I have, until recently, embraced.
Especially since it means The Dada handles the laundry. Yes, all of it. Yes, I do realize how lucky I am.
But lately… a half-hearted hug is the best I could do. The Family has been eating more than our fair share of quesadillas, pizza, and assorted pasta dishes, garnished with the not-infrequent dinner out for good measure. Suffice it to say I was quite pleased with myself Sunday evening when I served homemade squash apple soup and homemade truffled shiitake parmigiano reggiano risotto in the same meal.
Smug. S-M-U-G. Smug.
As is the case in oh-so-many cautionary tales, that hubris foreshadowed my downfall, for The Kidling began to sing during the meal:
“You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit. You get your risotto, and you don’t throw a fit.”
I give up.
kidlingville 