3.14

I am married to a mathematician, but we didn't celebrate with pie today.  No, at 5:30 this evening I whipped out some frozen fish fillets set aside for Friday, and now I have to figure out what to do for tomorrow's dinner. The crock pot and I have become better friends lately, and slow cooked meals are alternated with quick cold sandwiches, artisan breads served with cheese and plates of fresh fruit.  

Spring is just around the corner.  

I have not yet mastered 'the dinner hour.'  I'm not sure if that time of day is something that can really be improved upon or not, but I certainly haven't figured it out. I can handle the food part. 

But there's something about the children part that just gets a little bit tricky.  It's that antsy, hungry, mischievous energy that only pops up while I'm chopping and simmering and altogether not paying attention.  The other day it involved ink. 

Caught red-handed

It starts out innocently enough.  Sweet boys who want to make stamped artwork to decorate their walls.  You know how the rest goes. And since that day, I gave up the chopping, the simmering, the stirring, and the ignoring.  I embraced sandwiches and cans of soups and throwing something together at the last minute so that the dinner hour altogether disappeared.  Not forever, of course, but for this sweet season of young children, of inky fingers, of longer spring days with warmer weather.

So maybe tomorrow we'll pick up a take and bake pizza and call it Pi Day, because really, my children don't even know what day it is (or what pi is).  What they do know is my love, my attention and my presence. Choosing my family and children first?  Well that decision is as easy as pie.