Ever since my birthday about two weeks ago, I have been mildly obsessed. Okay. Completely obsessed. With what? Buttercream frosting. The name itself just rolls from the tongue in sweet harmony.

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. Read the rest of this entry…

The Scene: Eating dinner with the family. Paige in her Exersaucer next to the table.

Paige: {{Shriek, shriek!}}

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

“Mommy, I want this,” Will said to me the other evening, holding up a bottle of pancake syrup – the kind I wish I could banish from our house since it is anything but natural. However, Will and my husband love it so it remains.

“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.

The heat wave in New England has subsided. After day after day of intolerable heat, it was cool yesterday (while it rained) and warm today. Thank goodness. The stifling heat is just too much for this pregnant woman to take.

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 . . .

The past week has been a blur of refrigerator repairmen, work, a quick turnaround freelance project and finding every spare minute to spend with Will. Though I always spend as much time with Will (not being in the same room, but really doing things with him), this week I happened upon one too many newspaper articles about tragedies that befell families including a horrific triple homicide home invasion here in Connecticut. My heart just aches when I read about stories like this.

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 occasionally 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 enthusiastically 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 ingredients . . . 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.

Sunday afternoon was a blast. My good friend Virtual Frolic, Will and I went to Jones Family Farms in Shelton, Conn., to pick strawberries. It was the perfect day for it — not too hot, a nice breeze and a good amount of sun.

As a little girl, I used to go strawberry picking with my grandmother every year. It was among my favorite activities. I remember teeming with anticipation, waiting for the little sign to appear and point the way toward the pick-your-own farm near where we lived. Then, I would start asking when we would go. Incessantly. When we finally went, I would eat as many strawberries as I picked and ultimately leave covered from head to toe in red strawberry stains. One year in particular, there was intolerable heat under the bright sun . . . but that didn’t stop me. And when we’d get home, the first thing on my mind was eating more berries.

I daresay this will be an annual tradition for us, as it was for my grandmother and I.

Fortunately, Will eats his berries plain. Me, on the other hand? For years and years I would dip the berries in powdered sugar when consuming. In fact, I still do once in awhile when I want a taste of childhood.

Special thanks to VF for the great pictures – of course I left my camera in the car! Isn’t that always the way? And a double thanks for carrying my gigundo box of strawberries all the way so I could carry Will.

2. Place in a flat layer on a baking sheet or in a freezer safe container.

Will LOVES pizza. It is quite possibly his all-time favorite food, though he is still a little young to say for sure. Nonetheless, whenever I ask him what he wants to eat for dinner, the answer is usually pizza (or, as he says it, peet-za).

Knowing that my husband would be working tonight, I decided pizza would be our dinner of choice. At first I was just going to order a pie from our favorite place here in town, but then at work I started thinking about how easy it is to make. Even the dough is a cinch in the Breadman. So, after my doctor’s appointment today, I came home and threw the ingredients into the bread machine. I was reading through my go-to pizza dough book, The Best Pizza is Made At Home, when I noticed that this recipe actually makes enough for two 10-inch pizzas. So, I made sure to separate the dough and refrigerate one portions – yea for an easy dinner later.

Unfortunately, there were a few minor disasters on the way to the table. For one, the pizza stone developed this bizarre burnt section (it had appeared clean when I put it in there) leading me to believe that someone forgot to wash it last time. That’s the only explanation I can think of that makes any sense. Anyway, now I will be replacing that.

Onward and upward, I decided to use a nonstick baking sheet instead. No problem. Except that I let the pizza cook for about 5 minutes too long (Will was in the bath!) and it burned a bit on one side. Fortunately, it wasn’t ruined, just overcooked. And Will still enjoyed it.

To cook this pizza, top as desired and cook for 12-18 minutes in an oven preheated to 500 degrees. Let cool slightly before cutting.

2/3 cup lukewarm water
1 tbsp olive oil
2 cups bread flour
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp active dry yeast

Combine all ingredients in the bowl of a bread machine in the order listed. Set to dough (or pizza dough, if you have it) cycle. When it’s complete, divide and mold into pies. Freeze any unused dough.

Back in April, Kalyn posted a question to me here. I tactfully (or perhaps not so tactfully) ignored it because it wasn’t one I was ready to answer in public. But I think I have waited a sufficient amount of time now. So, the answer is yes, Kalyn, I am pregnant. Will, my sweet little boy, is going to be a big brother.

Now fear not, dear reader, there isn’t suddenly going to be a rush of recipes for, say, pickle and sauerkraut cookies (not to say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind). Fortunately, this child seems to be more interested in fresh veggies, fruits and lots of carbs. But junk food? Eh. Ice cream? Eh. Even chips. Eh. Unless any of it is homemade. Go figure.

But considering I typically shun processed foods and prefer homemade over store bought, it’s not so bad, particularly now that walking in my kitchen isn’t cause for running far, far away.

These cookies? They are my favorite recipe – the old Toll House one. I revisited the recipe last night, making a few minor changes because of ingredient mishaps and the desire to just do it by hand. I never use nuts, and my husband just threw out my baking soda (who knew it expires!). Oh, and I didn’t feel like pulling out the Kitchen Aid, so I mixed everything by hand – what a good workout!

The cookies came out buttery and sweet and perfect. Just the way I like ‘em.