“Mom, I’m hungry!”

This is the daily refrain moaned by one or both of my children, usually when I’m trying to engage myself in some impossible activity, like pretending to read a novel or attempting to write my very first blog entry. Hearing it produces multiple reactions within me; irritation (why do they need to eat constantly – maybe if I stop feeding them they won’t grow so darn much!); panic ( I’d better jump up now and nuke some mac n’ cheese before he or she faints dead away of starvation!); anger ( No, your dinner will not be ready Right This Minute!) or, on the best of all days, peaceful domesticity, when I reach into my well-stocked fridge and pull out some leftover spaghetti carbonara, pasta fagioli, or roasted rosemary chicken. No, that doesn’t happen every day, but I strive for it. And we do eat well in our house. I am always thinking about what I could be eating, cooking and drinking. Eating and preparing good food is possibly our greatest pleasure in this world, and I’m doing my best to instill that notion into the heads of my hungry little rats while their brains are still putty-like.
Ah, but it’s going to be a daily trial – No, you may not eat tic tacs for breakfast!

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