1. Bring water. In a bottle. To drink.

2. Bring more water for your other child, who will want some too.

3. Make sure that the umbrella chairs in your trunk are accessible.

4. Camera? Definitely ok. Cell phone? Totally okay too.

5. He will beam when you tell him he did a great job. Tell him again and again.

6. The uniform really was optional. And good thing. This outfit was so much better.

7. It’s okay to be a little envious of the girl with the shiny pink soccer ball.

8. The pro-mom (you know, the one who’s done this half a dozen times) will work the field of parents. That’s okay.

9. Bring something for the little one to do … otherwise she will spend an hour ripping grass out of the ground. That’s messy.

10. Follow pro-mom’s lead and talk to anyone and everyone. That one is harder than it sounds.

We are having a summer without air conditioning here. It’s not because of the mild weather though — it’s because I am trying to cut down on the electricity we use (summer is our peak usage time) and thus save money. It has the fringe benefits of also being a little kinder to the environment …

… And one that I hadn’t thought of before: we spend more time outside. When you take away the shock of cold air inside and hot air outside, the hot air is way more palatable. Who knew?

When I flipped this sandwich out of the frying pan and onto Will’s plate, I instantly smiled. Do you see it? The simple, unmistakable shape was clear as day. Instead of shooting a photo of the most perfect sandwich in the batch, I went with the one with the perfect little unexpected heart.

Here, you can see it better in this one:

That perfect little unexpected heart is a lot like a mother’s love. You carry a child for nine and a half months. Of course you are supposed to love them, it’s expected. But loving that little seed in your belly is like talking to an imaginary friend. You know the baby is there and real. But before anyone can see or touch that baby, it’s intangible. It’s confusing and uncertain. Really, it’s an abstract thing – loving something, someone, whom you don’t know and who you’ve never met. It’s complicated. Then one day they are born. And you are expected to love them right away, instantly. You can’t help but wonder if you really can love someone whom you only know as the alien jabs in your belly. So, when you have that swell of emotion when the baby first cries, that pop of relief that they really have arrived safely, it is unexpected.

This evening after dinner, I curled onto the couch next to Will. He scurried his little warm body close to me and laid down in front of me. I put my arms around him and hugged him close, while his short hair tickled my nose. “I love you, Mommy,” he whispered.

Simple, unexpected, heart swelling. What more can a mom ask for?

As for the sandwich, well, I can’t wait to make another one. It was sweet and sharp and crispy all at once. Absolutely, positively delish. And yes – this is totally kid-approved.

French Toasted Apple Grilled Cheese
serves 4

8 slices bread (I use a low-cal oatmeal bread that is thinly sliced)
2 tbsp apple butter, divided
4 ounces of sliced extra-sharp cheddar (I used a block of cheddar and cut enough slices to cover the bread)
1 egg, beaten well

Spread 1/2 tbsp of apple butter on one side of a slice of bread. Repeat until you have four slices with apple butter on them. Place cheddar slices on each of the apple buttered slices of bread. Top with remaining slices of bread.

Heat a large skillet on the stove, with the heat set to just below medium.

Pour the beaten egg onto a plate. When the skillet is hot, dredge each sandwich in the egg (on both sides of the bread) and place onto the skillet. Remember, you want to dredge, not drench. Cook, flipping once, until bread is browned on both sides.

Serve immediately.

It all started with the beautiful marble cake that Shawn bought for me. It had this delicious creamy frosting and was decorated with a firm, rich buttercream that melted in my mouth. I loved it. Loved every part of it. It was so sensuously smooth that it made my tongue dance with glee . . . Except when I went to eat the last sliver of cake, something was missing: the scalloped buttercream edging from the bottom of the cake.

Yes, folks, my last bit of buttercream was stolen out from under me. Surely you can understand my devastation. It’s been all I could think about since then. I’ve been driving Shawn crazy with my musing about the delectable taste of that buttery buttercream . . . Like a jilted lover, it haunted me with conviction and certainty until he finally went and bought a little more for me to enjoy . . .

Oh, the sweet sensation of buttercream on tongue . . .

That’s why when I read this post on Smitten Kitchen about making Swiss buttercream, I just knew . . . I had to do it. I haven’t yet, but it’s coming . . . perhaps even for the birthday Will shares with his grandmother.

In the meantime, I did what any sensible person would do: I sent Shawn back to the store for a little more cake.

Do you have a favorite frosting?

I should have known that Paige would be gung-ho about eating regular foods . . . after all, I am her mother.

Paige has quickly gone from an immobile infant to a crawling baby. She’s sped from an 100 percent breastfed girl to a breastmilk, baby food and finger foods child. And she’s not showing any signs of slowing down. If this keeps up, she’ll be eating regular dinners with us in no time. Seriously.

I don’t remember Will going from cereal to mushed foods to solids this quickly, but maybe my memory fails . . . it’s certainly possible. I tried to remember a former roommate’s last name yesterday and couldn’t, so I had to ask a good friend who was also one of my roommates. Meanwhile, I can remember in great detail a fight we had about a wrap and a smoothie at like midnight one fall while we were in college . . . go figure.

Anyway, we are quickly on our way to having two kids who regular no special meals . . . which is a huge boon. At least I don’t actually have to cook Paige’s food (thank you Earth’s Best!). But soon, it will be just microscopic food chunks all the time. Yay.

Paige: {{Shriek, shriek!}}

Will: (Leaning over the side of his highchair to see her.) It’s okay, Paige. I love you.

“That’s syrup, sweet pea. You can’t just eat syrup! That goes with pancakes, silly,” I said, expecting him to say okay and put it away . . . that is usually what happens.

“Yea, want paaaaaan-cakes,” he replied with a grin.

Did I mention it was evening? And I had stew meat defrosting on the countertop? Well, I did! And breakfast for dinner? Not something I do. Ever. After all, I am a breakfast failure. I burn everything — eggs, French toast, bacon – you name it — at least in the morning. Still, how often does a two-year-old specifically request a meal? For snacks, it’s often, but for meals it’s never in my house. So I did what any good mom would do . . .

“Alright. Do you want plain, blueberry or chocolate chip.”

“Chooooooc-co-laaaat chip. I want chocolate chip, Mommy.”

Decisive, for sure. And cute, oh so cute. How can you say no to that?

Am I opposed to breakfast for dinner? Nah. It’s just not something I normally do — and it’s not something I have done in a long, long time. But, I do believe in being flexible. Sure, I had defrosted meat, but it would be okay until the next day. Will is flexible all the time for me. He eats whatever I feel like, so to let him choose when he wants something isn’t a big deal for me.

And ultimately, it was more important that Will eat something then what exactly he ate at that moment (he’d already had his daily servings of fruit, veggies and dairy too). So, into the frying pan jumped some bacon and pancakes.

On a side note — I am a much better breakfast cook at night.

Fortunately, today also happened to be the day that Virtual Frolic and I had planned to go blueberry picking with Will. It wasn’t overwhelmingly hot. And while we did get quite toasty in the sun, we lasted about an hour before wanting to head back. Actually, the heat wave probably worked to our advantage in that respect – there were tons, and I mean TONS, of beautiful, big ripe blueberries on the bushes at Jones Family Farms in Shelton. It’s definitely a good time to go blueberry picking. Be aware that they are closed on Sundays and Mondays though. The season is also coming to a close soon, so call before you go to verify hours and that they are open.

Will had a blast from the time we arrived. (Did you notice that I color code his clothes to the fruit? Yea, it’s deliberate . . . he’s just a little boy after all and it saves us from unnecessary clothing changes due to fruit stains.) And, being the big two-year-old he is, he carried our basket for quite a bit. But there is nothing as cute as his squeal of “weee!” when we rode on the Berry Ferry out to the field and then back later. He ate quite a few berries and was kind enough to pick a few too. And, miracle of miracles, the ones he picked were mostly ripe.

VF and I have had a ton of fun doing the pick-your-own circuit this summer. Strawberry picking in June, blueberries in August . . . and maybe, just maybe, we’ll head off for peach and other fruit picking in the fall.

But for now, what to do with my 3+ pounds of blueberries . . .

Several years ago, before I was married or a mother and while I was still a reporter for Connecticut’s second largest newspaper, I routinely wrote about untimely deaths – the tragedies. Children gone too soon, families left to pick up the pieces . . . and I was there to speak with them about their loss. But my specialty was digging up histories of people (and companies, when the need struck). My friends would occationally ask me how I could write about such terrible things and not have it affect me. Back then, the loss and the tragedy of the deaths never got to me. Sure, it was sad to hear about the promising lives left behind but I was detached from the lives I wrote about. The pain, loss and suffering that was the cornerstone of much of my newspaper career didn’t touch me . . . until it did.

I changed. My life changed. After getting married and having Will, I realized that I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t immerse myself in other people’s tragedies all day long and then go home to my sweet little son and wonderful husband and not let it affect me. I quit, but kept freelancing for the paper for another year or so. As a freelancer, I could write about new developments proposed before the Planning and Zoning Commission and school improvements, but I didn’t have to cover death and destruction any more.

I’ve since left the newspaper behind for good, instead taking on new challenges in new publication areas. But when I read about children who are hurt or worse, it takes me back in time to when I wrote enthusiatically about these topics without a second thought. Time, age and parenthood changes us all. In my case, it was like going from perpetual darkness into a life filled with light. I had never realized that my life was in darkness, until it wasn’t anymore.

What does any of this have to do with cooking? It doesn’t exactly. But in my life, I didn’t start this blog, writing about food or even regularly enjoying cooking until I came into the light, getting married, having Will and leaving behind all the tragedy.

These days, as much as I would love to avoid those stories, I can’t. I still have to have my fingertip on the goings on around me. But when I read them, they make me want to rush home and hug my son. Often, once the day is through, that is exactly what I do. It also reminds me to enjoy the moments we have, so I get down on the floor and play with him before whipping up dinner. On nights when it’s just the two of us, I also try to cook up things that he’ll love to eat.

This week, I cooked these tiny onions you see here with a bit of balsamic vinegar. Will and I feasted on them along with several other vegetarian selections. But other than that, I didn’t do too much cooking on account of the failing refrigerator (current status: tentatively running, but it’s been deemed unable to permanently repair. Just waiting on the repair company to tell the warranty company that . . . any day now . . . so that we can get a new one).

This afternoon, I have big plans with some onions and other delicious ingrediants . . . until then, go hug your children, tell them you love them and put aside whatever else it is that you feel like you need to do this Sunday. Take a few moments to just enjoy their company.