Coffee tastes best when it's stolen out of the pot before it's done brewing and it makes that little sizzling sound when the liquid hits the warmer.
Gianni, this is my bath. You can take your own in twenty minutes after Mommy is raisin-y. Get your toes out. Get your fingers out. Quit stealing my bubbles. Ok, you can take the bubbles with you. Don't drip.
Yes, Anna, you can have a dark chocolate ginger truffle for breakfast. It is the season. Dark chocolate ginger truffles; they're not just for dessert anymore.
I miss the easy friendships I had when I was in my twenties, but I wouldn't go back because they were too easy and not tried by fire yet. I love knowing that our little band has been through everything possible that could happen to humankind (well, almost) and one by one, we've helped raised one another out of the pits of it, dusted off our big girl pants, and squeezed our entwined hands.
When Thanksgiving dinner arrives I wonder why we only eat such a fabulous, perfect, flawless meal once a year. Then, after upteen leftovers, I remember why. No one will want it again for 360 days.
And it all tastes a little bit better when your Mom makes it. I can't taste 1988 in my stuffing, or 1992 in my mashed potatoes. Mine are all 2011 and they are lacking somehow. My mom's food tastes like memories on a plate.
Yaaah, we're finally out of that all natural, green, eco friendly dishwasher soap and we can go back to the hole-in-the-ozone-layer, harsh, plastic-y packaged, dish tabs that I so very much love. It was like I had a collection of faux milk glass for a while there.
This is the only time of year I like cookies.
Measure your butter when making shortbread, don't just eyeball it.
Why is the laundry never done? I hate seeing the bottom of the hamper only to have my view obscured by someone tossing in their underpants, completely and effectively dampening my warm, fuzzy feelings.
I'm so excited to chop down my Christmas tree tomorrow I can hardly stand it. I'm a little nervous to be living in such a tree hugging state now though. Especially if they find out about the Cascade dish tabs. And that I only recycle when I run out of room in my trash.
I love that my man is obsessed with lights on the house and that I can't let him go into any drugstore or department store or grocery store because he will buy more.
Why is there a fly in my kitchen? Shouldn't flies be dead in November?
Gianni's skin is so soft. Maybe I should rub almond milk, dirt, tears, mud, twigs, oatmeal, salad dressing, Windex, dog food and car oil, on my face too. Maybe I should make a Toddler Facial Smoothie and sell it on QVC.
No, Anna, one truffle is plenty.
Gianni, it's time for your bath now. What do you mean you don't want one anymore? Can I at least remove the twig from your pants and rub the oatmeal into your skin a little bit better? Can you spare some of that mysterious grease for my T-zone?