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I’ve noticed that my fellow bloggers are moving on to peppermint. That means Christmas, right? No more pumpkin? But it’s not Thanksgiving yet!
And I might also take this moment to reveal that I hate mint. Put down that pitchfork! Sorry, but it reminds me of toothpaste. I can’t associate toothpaste with dessert. I’ve tried. I’ve failed. It’s over.
So will you see any mint recipes on this blog? Maybe. I can put aside my personal feelings and bake with mint every now and then. But I won’t be jumping on that holiday peppermint bandwagon. It’s just not who I am.
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Every now and then, the people I love let me go to a farmer’s market on Sunday morning. You see, kids are really impatient. They don’t find stalls full of jewelry and baked goods and produce appealing. They think it’s kind of dull unless they happen to be eating the baked goods. The whole time.
During one happy farmer’s market outing many moons ago, I sampled the best raspberry crumb bars in the universe. No, I’m not being hyperbolic. They were incredible. I would actually pick one over a Reese’s. That should give you an idea of how amazing they were.
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I sometimes get weary, people. Bone-tired. Can’t-take-it-anymore tired.
Whoops, I lost myself for a bit there. But there’s this thing that happens when you have small kids. It’s commonly known as “stomach flu,” but annoying know-it-alls will constantly tell you that this scourge has nothing to do with the flu. Thanks, smarty pants. Wanna feel what I’m feeling right now?
Okay, that sounded bitter. It’s just that I’ve had, on average, five friendly stomach viruses per year since becoming a mom. And as someone who loves to eat, I always resent the havoc these episodes wreak on my taste buds. Because for days and even weeks post-sickness, my palate reverts to childhood. All I want are chocolate chip cookies, cheese sandwiches and hot dogs. With the occasional sushi roll. Weird.