I don't know about you, but right about now (5:15pm to be exact) I start to get agita thinking about what I'm going to prepare Petra for dinner. Notice that I didn't say, "make" but instead, "prepare". That's because I don't "make" anything. Seriously. Does that make me a deficient parent? I certainly feel deficient. But I have to ask myself, how hard could it be to make a decent meal for my family? I don't need to be a gourment chef, ny any stretch, I just want to get away from frozen Tyson chicken nuggets.
I *will* turn a new leaf and I *will* start "making" food. I am so committed that I even convinced my mother to turn over her tried-and-true Betty Crocker cookbook (circa 1959) so that I can make several of her coveted recipes. How's that for dedication????
I promise to have you all over for dinner once I work through the kinks.
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