I want this site to be more than a food blog. I want it to be an outlet for my creativity. The chronicle of my son growing up before my eyes. The expression and fulfillment of my need to be a good mother, wife, and friend. My failures and successes and aspirations. My unobtainable pipe dreams and shallow waves hiding priceless pearls beneath my feet.
Either this blog will turn into something important to you and others like you, or it will be a lonely kitchen diary that I clutter up twice a week. The contents will be the same no matter how many people read it. Really, it takes a whole heck of a lot of energy to work 40+ hours/week, to come home and cook all these meals, to cut the coupons needed to be able to afford the fresh ingredients, to take care of my beautiful son and silly husband, to type out and arrange every painstaking recipe, and to maneuver pots and spoons and flames and lighting and wires and steam to get that one perfect picture and hope it turns out a worthy representative of the recipe. To do all of this without losing my mind...
Don't you sometimes feel that way? Like just one more thing. Just ONE MORE will put you over the tipping point and that's it? Kiss your sanity goodbye. It's exhausting, isn't it? But there are little things that always seem to coax you back from the brink. When you come home to a surprise cleaned kitchen by hubby, or he finally patched up that gaping hole in the doorway that was letting a draft in, or you have a nice long soak in the tub with some smooth jazz and a good book. I'm being a little specific, but you know exactly what I'm talking about, right? Those tiny, sparse, calming happenings that seem to come out of nowhere, and at just the right moment too.
Well, I think one of those tiny, calming happenings that would make doing these recipes much more bearable is if I knew that I was making some other exhausted mother, wife, caregiver or breadwinner's cooking time easier and tastier and even fun. In fact, that kind of realization may end up being the only thing that keeps this silly blog of mine alive and wriggling.
I guess what I mean to say is that I truly hope my recipes and stories make a difference in your life, even if it's just a tiny one. And if you have any thoughts that you'd like to share, however tiny, sparse, or insignificant they might seem, do it. I'd love to hear from you.
-Summer
I remember going to Olive Garden one day with some friends. The hostess sat us at a booth and after a while I realized that my seat was directly beneath the ledge where the servers kept the bowl of Andes Mints. What's this? Yes, the mint chocolate powers that be were shining down on me that day. I know there are no "mint chocolate powers that be". But it was a beautiful day because of those little candies. 
I just wanted to pop in and let everyone know that I haven't forgotten about you! I realize I haven't posted a recipe in a little while. We've been sick at our house, so I'm waiting until all is well. t looks like I'll be able to post one this weekend (yay!) Make sure you stop by this weekend to check out the new recipe. It's definitely a keeper.
I was 11 years old and one of the classes I was in took a field trip to the Texas Renaissance Festival one year. My mom volunteered to chaperon. No! Why?? My mom and I got along fine, but I was at that adorable age when your parents start deliberately doing things to embarrass you in front of your friends and peers. Or that's how it felt at the glorious age of eleven. And my mom has never been one of those quiet, soft-spoken mothers. No, she was silly and liked to have fun with kids. She's always liked kids. At the age of 5, that's a great thing. It's fun. At the age of 11, that isn't how you want your mom to be when you're around others your age.
My son turned 3 years old today. As I thought about the day he was born, my heart swelled so much that I thought my chest was going to burst open. I know it sounds cliche, but that's exactly how it felt. I had a strange pregnancy. I was sick the whole 9 months (not just a few), I only gained 7 pounds through the whole thing, and I had no cravings. Oh, and my son was 10 pounds, 7 ounces at birth. Yep. You read that correctly. Ten pounds.
Who doesn't love cookies? I'm sure there are some people out there who don't. We call them crazy cookie haters. Well, I do. Cookies are little disks of heaven. And I don't care if they contain chocolate or not. Cookies are crazy-good. And they're so darn portable. You can take them anywhere. Except to the movie theater, unless you hide them in your massive purse. Not that I've ever done that...
