Irony

It is one of life's little jokes that just when I decide to write a blog about food and cooking my stomach goes on strike. I had a biopsy yesterday. Afterwards the nurse walked me to the car and told Mike, "She needs to rest. No housework for the rest of the day."

Not being allowed to do housework is fundamentally different from sneaking off with your laptop and avoiding doing it. I was not allowed to clean up after dinner. Nor was I allowed to start laundry even though the new house cleaner played mix and match with the clean and dirty clothes and now all garments are under suspicion and must be made pure.

I sat in bed and watched an episode of This American Life (the TV version) on my laptop and didn't feel I should be doing something else.

This morning at 7am the nurse called to check up on me. She asked if it hurt when I talked. I said, "Not casual conversation, but last night I had to stop reading to the kids."

She said, "I told you to rest!"

Oh, woe! I missed out on a day when even reading to the kids was more than I was supposed to do. Not that I don't enjoy reading to the kids. But Ev and Clem jostle for space and Greta climbs all over me saying, "You are my gymastics mat!"

In truth reading to the kids is sometimes an aerobic workout.

I am still failing to challenge the kids' palates with our cooking. However, Greta was adamant that she would not eat french toast for breakfast, and she did eat it after making it. Oh culinary victory. I think. It reminds me of a time when I was at a birthday party and a mom admonished her four year old to eat all her cake. Ok, it was whole wheat french toast and had milk and omega-3 enriched eggs and it was served with cinnamon sugar. Cinnamon sugar, you remember, one of the 11 Best Foods You Aren't Eating (ok, maybe not the sugar part).