THE ROAD TO DOMESTIC GODDESS-NESS IS RIDDLED WITH HOLEY POTS

Shitski. Sometimes, I loathe middle school. You know the worst thing about parenting a young student? It's all those projects that require the involvement of the parent -- usually the Mom! -- into cooking something for class. LOATHE. IT. Ironic since I have a kitchen newly-reconstructed to fit in a futbol field...but that's another story.

Here's my 7th grade experience with the culinary arts. Now, Michael's 8th grade class is studying China -- all well and good. But, tomorrow, the kiddos are supposed to bring in Chinese food prepared by them or their parents. Excuse Moi?!!!

So I do what I always do for Chinese food -- go to the telephone for take-out. But then I remembered this ain't Kansas New York anymore, Chatty Dawg! It's St. Helena where not a decent Chinese restaurant exists for miles!

Being a brilliant conceptual artist, I solved my dilemma easily. I ordered the hubby to bring in Chinese food from San Francisco since he commutes there to work every day. Snap. Crackle. Pop. I AM A GREAT MOM!

Speaking of boys, puppy dog tails, snails or whatever that phrase is that I'm mangling, here's Michael with a tree frog he caught from his window:



I made him release said froggie back into the wild. Such are days with growing a boy ... who shamed me recently by stumbling across a cookbook I once bought in a fit of fancy from a library sale -- it was about "microwave cooking." Sigh.

So, can we get back to basics here like algebra and stuff, instead of teaching a student just how inept his Mom is at cooking? Michael's already learned that lesson very well!