So we covered the twins’ unique naptime activity yesterday.
A-hem.
Today, I thought it only fair to share a more understandable habit, one that has some family history to it.
Understand, I only cook with butter.
I don’t do margarine.
It’s against my religion.
My culinary religion, that is.
So I buy butter by the brick. Often. In large quantities.
Understand, I don’t eat a lot of butter. With my running/training way of eating, a half-pound of butter that I would slather on white flour pasta would be frowned upon.
But, boy, would that taste good.
Give me a moment.
Okay, back to my butter disclaimer.
So I enjoy the creamy goodness of real butter once every couple of weeks. But I bake with butter. And I feed the kids butter. And I allow them to slather butter on my baked goods.
‘Cuz you’re only young once. And had I known I would be taking butter off my daily list as an adult back when I was seven years old, I would have eaten much.more.butter.
Except my mom always bought margarine.
Oleo, as they say in the South.
Bleh.
My devotion to butter has been shared and exceeded by my progeny. Particularly 2 of 8. She, as a five year old, would dig in the fridge for a snack and unwrap a stick of butter.
And eat it.
This genetic trait has now been passed down to yet another Octamom spawn.
And that would be 8 of 8.
The first sign is softened butter with some characteristic finger marks in it.
Wait long enough, and you’ll see the predator stalking his prey…
Hmmm, what have we here?
Busted!
And worth every golden dollop…
Tue, 29 Sep 2009 09:59:00 +0000julielylescarr
