Our beloved Eastern Market is gone. A fire gutted much of it in the early morning: It took 160 firefighters 2 hours to put out the blaze. I’m at a loss. So many of our weekend rituals center around that amazing place, so much like a European market, with its stalls of cheese, produce, and specialty vendors. Hand made pastas, organic meat and chicken, exotic game, quail’s eggs. The cheese vendor who stands behind his counter and slowly, slowly slices off a sliver of this and that to tempt passersby. Delicious half-smokes for the starving, and the most popular lunch counter in the city with big fat crab cakes and lumberjack breakfasts. The best apple fritters and a decent cuppa at the opposite end of the hall, and flowers to bring... [Read more]

 I spent the day at work, getting things ready for a crazy hectic week.We’re short staffed, and as a manager, I try to keep the stress from overburdening my team. Yes, I know it’s Sunday. My son’s room is clean. The living room is neat. The kitchen is nice enough to cook in, and I’ve got laundry in the dryer. By contrast, my clothes are piled up on the bed, I’ve eaten dinner standing up five nights running, and I need a hair cut, a manicure, a pedicure, an annual checkup and a dermatologist. Honestly, I don’t know when I’ll get around to taking care of me. I know, we’re supposed to help ourselves first, and then take care of the passengers of life around us, but honestly? I can’t do it.... [Read more]

I try not to. Really. I do. But when he’s such a shining joy — and yes, he’s a pain in the butt, too — I can’t help myself. I do limit myself as much as possible, and edit 70% of what really wants to slip out of my mouth. It’s hard to be sensitive about the fact that not everyone wants to talk about kids, just as I don’t want to listen to a blow by blow reenactment of someone’s cat’s derring do’s. I’m glad there has been a baby boom at the office, because that does give me a pretty broad base of folks I can gush to every once in a while. What amuses me to no end is the fact that nearly all of them are fathers, not mothers. I love watching their faces light up when they talk about... [Read more]

I was just looking at all the lovely groceries I’ve put away this evening, and I’m particularly amused by the head of cauliflower. When I was a kid, I couldn’t stand the stinky stuff. But my son loves it. And the secret is … smash. We steam it til it’s tender, but doesn’t smell like an overboiled head of cabbage, and then puree it with butter and salt and pepper. He’s never been a fan of smashed potatoes and I try not to eat so many carbs these days, so smash it is! It’s a lovely way to get some more veggies into your kids. Try it! [Read more]

Four year olds aren’t the most accurate reporters of what passes for news. So when word trickled down that J. went to jail the other day, some moms wanted to know what really happened. Apparently J, a smart, sweet, well-liked member of the three year old class, is a bit of a klepto. He steals. And it’s not just a matter of, “Oh, isn’t that cute, he doesn’t want to let go of that toy, he wants to take it home”. Nope, this kid goes through purses. When he’s caught, he laughs and says it doesn’t matter: “I’m just a kid. They don’t put kids in jail.” Ahem. Officer Friendly, a retired police officer who volunteers at the school, came in to make a presentation to J about the dangers... [Read more]