It has been a rather bipolar day. It started off really well, with a mug of hot cocoa. I was then serenaded with the sweetest rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" I have ever heard. Peanut grabbed the new ornament that I bought the other day (yeah, I did it... it was so pretty!) out of the decorations box and began singing. As she sang, she held the star (ornament) high above her head and gazed up at it. So sweet!

I have a ritual that I have observed for years now. At the first snow (the first real snow), the one where you wake up and see everything outside covered in at least a couple of centimetres of beautiful white, I make myself a hot cocoa. I sit by the window and drink in the beauty of the season (you know, before the reality of February and slush kicks in). I can't help but get excited about the holidays (not difficult since we celebrate more than our fair

I am a pack mule. It seems to be my constant state. No matter what I do, I always seem to have my hands full. You will recognize me by the heavy diaper bag, the toddler on my hip, the groceries in my hand. I never seem to have my hands free.

After you make Chicken Soup, as I did yesterday, you are left with at least 1/2 chicken plus carrots and parsnips (I discard the leeks and herbs). As I looked at them, put away neatly in my fridge, I decided that I needed to find a recipe for leftover chicken. I've tried using the chicken in pot pies (it works well) but since I already made a batch this weekend, I needed something more.

As soon as Peanut began sitting in her high chair and feeding herself finger foods, I started insisting that H be home for family dinners. I'll be honest here, he grumbled. A lot. He's a bit of a workaholic at the best of times, but after months of sleep deprivation and life revolving around our first born daughter, it was time to focus on all of us as a family. I read the studies on the virtues of family meals. They are heralded as a cure-all, an instant fix. The truth is a little more complicated.