Dailies

Tonight’s dinner:

• Savory waffles with cornmeal, rosemary and basil. Used my dad’s regular waffle iron, as my Belgian didn’t seem appropriate
• Roast salmon
• Broiled asparagus
• Spinach and arugula salad
• A beer (local amber)
• A squeeze bottle of 2/3 mustard to 1/3 maple syrup

Piper was thrilled to hear we were having waffles for dinner! And then she was utterly crushed to find out that we wouldn’t be putting maple syrup on them.  ”I want something on my waffles!” got wailed at me about five times before I got her to take a few deep breaths and mollified her with some yogurt and applesauce on the waffle.

Me, I had some sliced tomatoes and salmon on top of the crunchy cornmeal waffle and brightened with the mustard/maple.  Awesome.  Feels like summer is just around the corner.

Child number one: up 4 times overnight, calling out for backrubs and cuddles until, sometime in the crack between the floorboards of 2:47 and 3:12, I concede defeat and crawl, Downey Jr-like, into my toddler’s bed. For the next several hours I doze fitfully, occasionally pelted in the face by a nearly-three-year-old-girl’s flung hand, until I hear a whisper around 6:47 a.m.

“Abba, can we have breakfast?”

I do not move. I do not respond. I am thinking, in my head, the actual words: “If I pretend to be dead, the bear will nose at me and move along to the next campsite. I will think unappetizing thoughts and the bear … will … leave … me … alone.”

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Sasquatch child, at home

Seriously, look at the feet on that kid.

Last night the same grandparents who had just given her a dollar for the afikomen handed her a loaded Easter basket … and this morning, I’m making a few of the hot cross buns with stars of David on them, for good measure.

Pascal was a piker; if you’re going to hedge your bets, you should frickin hedge your bets.

Also, I’ve never seen a kid who seems to like matzoh as avidly as this one. Not so much gefilte fish, but she tried uncut horseradish without yelping, which was better than her father did.

Scene: I’m holding Sydney while sitting on the couch. Piper and I have just been working on some lyrics.  I beatbox a little (quietly, so as not to startle Sydney), and raise her arms as I sing.

Adam: Hi! My name is …

Piper: What?

Adam: My name is …

Piper: Who?

Adam: My name is …

Piper: (hands making scratching motions) Wikka-Wikka!

in unison: … Cute Baby!

Seriously, early Eminem is practically kids’ music by now, right?