Not gonna lie: There are some dishes I don’t share. When my kiddos come up to me with mouths wide open (known around my house as “the baby-bird maneuver”), I’m ordinarily happy to pop a forkful of whatever I’m eating into their gaping jaws. But for shrimp? Nope. Uh-uh. Get your own plate. Continue reading
Thinking back to my childhood, I have very fond memories of watching football with my dad. Every Sunday during the season, Dad would settle into his recliner to enjoy the day’s games. I would settle join him in the den, sometimes climbing into his lap like he was a jungle gym, occasionally paying attention to the game, and, more often than not, only half-watching games while I played with my toys.