This is a true story (oh how I wish I was just adding this blurb for suspense):
My daughter Em has a ton of toys. We bought exactly none of them. That’s also roughly the same number of toys in the category "likes to play with for an extended amount of time".
Because why bother with Lego when you can just empty the box onto the floor, walk away and start playing with daddy’s glasses? Yes, she loves our stuff. Quite literally to pieces.
The other thing about that kid: She always needs to be doing what mommy or daddy are doing. If that carried over to potty training I wouldn’t be complaining. But it’s mostly about mommy’s big girl camera and daddy’s work laptop.
More often than not it’s also standing in the kitchen and helping to cook. And by helping I mean making a mess as big as a toddler possibly can. She knows her way around there.
So here comes the true story: I was home alone with Em one morning a little while ago, and we had to get our heating checked. I was calm and dressed. The house was spotless. Em had a little bow in her hair. I just lied three times in a row.
Anyways. That morning I was rushing to get a beautiful tomato spinach feta quiche photographed, and since I’m not really good with things that slice into wedges I was a bit - oh, let’s call it overwhelmed.
I knew the inspector would come at some point but I hadn’t realized how long I’d already been staring at a slice of perfect quiche. Another thing I apparently missed as well was how that dearest daughter of mine had found the two crates of earthy new potatoes in the kitchen and decided they were the appropriate toy of the morning.
Potatoes and dirt. Everywhere.
Do I even need to get into detail? Let me just say this: I’m hoping my highest hopes that this very inspector decided it was time for a career change after coming to our home.
Following this mildly disastrous moment (and possible maternal nervous breakdown), I naturally had to get rid of any and all potatoes lying around. On the floor. In every room.
Sigh. Usually I bake a cake when I’m upset. But that particular day I went and roasted a lot of potatoes.
I’m telling you all of this so that if you ever have to face a heating inspector in your PJs at 11am, photography gear fully set up behind you, a dirty-handed toddler clinging to your legs and potatoes all over your house… I mean, what are the odds?
But if you ever have a rough morning, or even just a very pleasant one and want to make it even better - don’t just make roasted new potatoes. Make them Greek-roasted. With lots of lemon flavors, fresh mint and feta cheese. And while you’re at it, toss in a few green beans.