I could swim the seven seas,
and cross off 29 things on my To-Do List.
Still the question buzzes in my ear
like a Kamikaze mosquito who comes out of hiding
after the bedroom light is extinguished.
I actually get annoyed when this
survival-of-the-fittest question is asked.
Remember, I’m the one who wishes the Wonka pill was real?
As if breakfast and lunch weren’t enough,
even though the kids often make their own,
they always gotta’ ask
“What’s for dinner?”
It’s not that I don’t wanna’ feed my kids,
it’s not that we are poverty-stricken and
need to beg for food from the starving kids in Africa.
Most of the time I just can’t come up with any idears.
Nothing sounds good,
nothing sounds easy.
Then one day I heard giggling in the kitchen.
Like handwriting on the wall,
I received my answer.
She looks so delicious,
we might have to make this again.
(Please don’t panic.
No children were hurt or abused
in the writing of this blog.
A mommy trying to carry an adorably chubby baby
and a large gleaming kettle upstairs at the same time,
merely simplified her life.)
(Blue words are links to past blogs,
just in case you were too busy trying to figger’
out what to make for dinner to notice.
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