Non-denominational Easter

I know! What is a non-denominational Easter? Well, it's what you get when you're agnostic but went out of the parenthood gate with wild enthusiasm for celebrating every holiday even remotely part of your own past and then have trouble walking those festive days back.

I love an egg hunt as much as the next gal, but Easter has, over the years, started to feel increasingly, and only, material to me. I say that with no disrespect. Were we believers, I'd be all in on this big day, but since we are not, it feels like giving the kids more stuff for no good reason. Baskets brimming with Easter grass and candy-stuffed plastic eggs. Lovingly homemade cards and thoughtfully chosen books. Notes in unfamiliar, left-handed scribble from a giant bunny. On a day that resonates not a bit.

Our kids have enough. More than enough. And so today, for the second year in a row, I proposed to the boys that we politely tell the Bunny not to come. 

"Sweeties, we are so fortunate. In the past three months, we've celebrated Christmas, Valentine's, Oliver's birthday and spring break. We don't believe in what Easter celebrates so how about we ask the Bunny not to come and instead we'll do something special together as a family?"

"What, Mom, no!"

"Hmm, Mom, OK. How about two eggs full of a chocolate and a nice book?

"Well, I want my stuff." 

I'll let y'all decide who uttered those bits.

Me: "And as an aside, do y'all think the Bunny is a boy or a girl?"

We all sat in shared silence, ruminating on this important question, before agreeing that we had no idea and wasn't that interesting.

Not least because the freaking bunny is ME.

Anyway, back to forgoing Easter.

"But, guys, y'all are so lucky. How about we make a festive cake and hunt for eggs? I mean, I really feel like it's gifts for no reason."

J: "Well Mom, we celebrate Christmas and we don't believe in that."

That kid is smart and that one stopped me in my tracks. Shit.

"Jack, that is a fair and good point, but for me, Christmas is really about the time with family and the traditions."

"Well, I don't see how that's so different."

Touché.

And so the Easter bunny is coming back this Sunday. I best get my white poof tail on and hop off to find some chocolates. 

Spaghetti & Meatballs: ain't no better than these

Y'all, no lie. You cannot make or find better meatballs and sauce than these. This recipe takes hours. HOURS! You will roll and cook meatballs until you think you cannot go on. You will be covered in tomatoey splatters, your stovetop will be speckled with oil. Your floor will need a thorough mopping and your hair a thorough wash.

But when you close your teeth around your first forkful of spaghetti twirled around a chunk of unbelievably light meatball, every sweaty memory will melt away into a blissful, amnesiac blur. Rather like holding your baby for the first time and remembering nothing but perfection after just swearing you were breaking in half and to death during labor.

I know. I screamed both of those things. And then I held Jack. And Ol. And then I ate these meatballs. On different days. And all was right in the world.

In addition to tonight's vat o' dinner, I now have leftovers and enormous stores in the freezer. This will all make me happy in the near and distant future. 

Whilst supping, I told Tom how marvelous I find it that any recipe I didn't create but make often ultimately becomes my own. Or you, yours. I've made this dish countless times in the years since I found it in Gourmet during a train ride to NYC.

Ol approves

And now, the ratio of beef to pork, no veal thank you, is my own preference of 2:1. The quantity of tomatoes is less than originally called for, and I find parsley to be optional while lemon zest is mission critical. I use less milk when soaking my bread, and I dice my onions fine, fine, fine. I don't wait to add my garlic.

Like Nanny's spaghetti and roast when I was growing up, these spaghetti and meatballs will be the regular Sunday, comfort-food meal I serve to my family as we grow. As it became mine, it will become ours.

PS- How stunning was this BLT, our dinner on Friday night?!

The Three Toileteers

One day left of break, and I dare say it's ending just in time. T, the boys and I decided that never again will we stay local; if we have to walk, we will migrate south! It was 27 degrees at one point today, Jack and I have bad colds, I sound like a man, and Jack and Ol are very nearly an enmeshed, old married couple.

They love and fight, snuggle and bicker. They refuse to break up, even momentarily. During the highs, they have conversations like:

"Can I marry Jack?"

"No, he's your brother and that's too closely related."

"Can I live with him and not marry anyone?"

"Sure, if that's what y'all decide."

"Jack, we're not having kids."

"I know. No kids. They're too much work."

Oliver did once say that he wanted to be a stay-at-home dad with no kids. Essentially, he wants a sugar daddy. Terrific. We are raising ambitious titans! At least he is consistently on-message.

During the lows, each blames the other for everything, including the weather.

"You are the meanest brother/bwutha ever."

And then hugs and kisses and WWF-type wrestling and displays of bare butts and putting each other's (clean, thank god) underwear over their heads and faces like Hanna Andersson-designed balaclavas. Watch out, Pussy Riot!

An easily roped-in friend (love this kid)

Our Magna-Tile collection has been repeatedly used to build castles, the floating lands of Pandora (we watched the family-friendly version of Avatar over break, and the kids loved it!) and a shocking array of highly-detailed coffins. Because I don't care to worry about the utter morbidity of this architectural foray, I have decided to simply applaud the incredibly creative designs of their funerary boxes which include hinged doors protecting the bodies and aerodynamic exterior shells should they need to be launched into space.

I mean, maybe these two should just ride off into the forever-roommate sunset together. It could be worse! I am so happy they are the best of pals.

I have been named the third Toileteer, gifted with a Triple-T cape just like the one Jack designed for both him and Ol. Apparently we are super-heroes, and my power is laser pee. Jack's is morning poo (he can build a wall to protect us) and Ol's is toxic farting (his gas can repel). 

It's great I've been included?

Ol received the coolest bat wings for his birthday and has perfected his sleeping bat pose. I find this enormously adorable.

Today we saw Cinderella (the boys and I plus Underwear-head and his sib/mom) which the kids all thought was "OK. Not as good or funny as the original." but which I loved. Seriously, I cried. Fucking fairy tales. 

I took my man-voice to the gym and really threw my trainer for a loop before returning home to make ninja shortbread cookies with the munchkins. House of Cards seems wildly appealing now- all dark salaciousness that also happens to be very real.