After the feeding frenzy that is shabbat around here (breakfast, kiddush, lunch, dessert, snack), the children, of course, wanted dinner.
Taxman made them French toast out of leftover challah.
I was researching Fun Things To Do With Small People in the City of Brotherly Love, where I taking them tomorrow for an overnight visit with my parents (all three of us–don’t get excited for me), when they descended on me to demand dessert. The fruit bats had already consumed apples, pears, bananas, and strawberries over the course of the day. And ruggelach at kiddush, so I would have preferred something a little light on sugar. But we were out of options. As I stumbled to the kitchen to dole out raisins and dried fruit, I groused, “I’ve spent all day feeding you! Why can’t you make your own dinner?”
“But Ema,” Miss M said, looking startled, “we’re not allowed to use knives!”