- We already got our boxes, but they just won't go away. They're everywhere.
Every grocery store, walking through the neighborhood, everywhere. You know how you just want to grab whatever it is you forgot for supper and go, but first you have to shuffle past the rickety tables surrounded by pig-tailed entrepreneurs? It's so bad Derek has dubbed it "the Girl Scout Gauntlet." We bought our four boxes- so why do I still find I can't make eye contact with them?!
- We've had a snowstorm just about every Saturday this month, and it is MARCH. We've had snowstorms other days, too, but there's something galling about being snowed in on a Saturday. I still love snow and generally prefer it over rain, but did I mention? IT'S MARCH.
The one good thing about all this winter-masquerading-as-spring nonsense (or would it be spring masquerading as winter? Whatever, something's not right) is that it is still totally, completely, unarguably soup season. When it's cold out I will have soup at every dang meal (yes, including breakfast, as the older I get, the more I seem to enjoy eating leftovers for breakfast. I neither know nor care to know what this means.), and since I'm still the principal chef in this house, this means my family finds themselves spooning soup down their chilled little gullets at least once a week throughout the winterish-fall, winter, and winterish-spring. Why only once a week? Well, as it turns out there are four other people in this family, none of whom quite match me in my fervor for soup (soupish fervor? Ew, never mind.), unless maybe it's our favorite recipe for potato soup (although keep in mind that the recipe I linked to barely feeds our family of five admittedly big eaters). Even when I'm making vegetable-heavy soups, though, complaining is kept to a minimum by a thousand-yard death stare and a peace offering of homemade bread. I like this recipe, because it's no-knead, takes five whole minutes to put together the night before, and is crusty on the outside, soft on the inside (which is also the way I like my- ew, never mind). I added some leftover olive oil and rosemary asiago cheese to this one, and HOLY SAINT HONORÉ (the patron saint of bread bakers, and thank you very much, Catholics, for not leaving out the glutenous among us), DOES IT SMELL AMAZING.
- Whoever is in charge of our district's school lunch menu seems to have given up. Lunch option #1 for today was "taco in a bag," which our children assure me is school lunch-speak for "walking taco." I just don't know if I've ever heard a cry for help quite as clear as calling a delicious walking taco "taco in a bag." I'm worried about the poor soul who dreamt up that name. Hey, I know! I'll say a prayer for that person, then completely ignore the book of James and not follow it up with any action. Take it away, John!