I Think My Stepmother Is Hungry

You see, Jo is a bit of a martyr. Not because she beats her chest and talks about her difficult days, but because she grew up in a small town in Kansas and married a man with a Kosher Dairy kitchen.

For those of you unfamiliar with the rules of Kashrut, that means there are no meat products or byproducts in the house. None. Except fish, cuz ya know, fish isn’t meat (doesn’t matter a bit though cuz no one wants to eat it unless they’re dying). Yes, dear goyim, I understand that fish has flesh and a nervous system, that it isn’t a plant, but fish isn’t meat. Please don’t interrupt the laws of Kashrut with logic, the rabbis have bickered about this for many millennium.

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Passive Aggressive Notes: From My Son?

Monday I made my famous ribs (okay the only difference with my ribs and these is that I use freshly grated ginger and much less sugar and honey) and invited one of my favorite tennis parters to join us for supper. Jackie is an amazing tennis player, but in addition to that she’s a lovely guest. As a retired school teacher she just seems to know what to bring kids.

Each of my kids got a packet of eco-friendly pencils, a few colored pens, a highlighter and Post It Notes.

Kids Love Post It Notes.

And this is what I found on Alexander’s mirror tonight:

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I Love My Kids; It’s the Parenting that Sucks

My son can’t get a hold of himself when he’s hungry. He’s long and lean and clearly in the middle of a growth spurt. He’s gangly and lopsided and when he smiles it’s like the sun focused all it’s warmth on just your face and it’s about to penetrate your soul.

When my son smiles with his whole face, I melt. So does Robert.

But as Alexander is growing, and stretching in physical and emotional ways he flops himself into my car at the end of the day. “How was school?” I ask my daughter, “nice,” she smiles and has more details for me. Alexander comes crashing into the backseat craving food and attention and an outlet and a voice. Shrilly he asks, “Where’s my snack?”

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