Sisters strolling in the park. I pray they’re always this close.


Last night was a doozie. One of those evenings where every button is pushed, and by the end, every hair is pulled out. Tempers flared. Words hissed. Patience broke.

My youngest has been particularly difficult lately. Every other word is spoken as a whine, and when all 42 pounds of her 3-year-old body decide they don’t want to do something, it’s a back-breaking exercise in frustration. And she thinks it’s funny. And I used to let her get away with too much because, well, she’s my baby. And her older sister had me so wound up with her melodramatic preschooler-acting-like-a-preteen drama fests that I quite welcomed a different kind of naughty. But now? Now? My oldest has entered a “mommy’s little helper” phase while my youngest is …

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Mmm…I can just smell the chocolate and cinnamon.

When it comes to baking, I’ve learned a valuable lesson. If it’s good, I have no self control. Shoot, even it’s a little better than edible I have no self control. If I whip something up in the kitchen to be shared by only my little family, you can bet I’ll be “sneaking” bites long after dessert time is over. I. Just. Can’t. Stop. My oldest also has a sweet tooth, and if there’s something yummy in the house, it consumes her every bit of attention. She whines. She negotiates. She makes me wish I’d never made the darn thing in the first place.

So whenever possible, I try to infuse as many healthy ingredients as I can, and use sneaky swaps to pack in extra nutrients and …

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