Every day, as I prepare a meal for my one year old, I think of my dad.  Especially when I’m cutting his sandwiches into perfect little squares so his squishy fingers can shove bite-sized pieces into his mouth.  It reminds me of the meals my dad used to make me.  Peanut butter and jelly was my fav.  Four perfect squares, hold the crust.  Cheese toast was second best.  These bits were even smaller.  Tiny individual toasts with melted cheddar.  Another frequent request was “pink pink”, my word for scrambled eggs.  Dad isn’t quite sure where that came from, but we think I called it that because the eggs came in a pink carton.  I didn’t call scrambled eggs anything, but “pink pink” until I was embarrassingly old. When I am cutting Jack’s sandwiches up for him, I think of my dad and all the fun we had growing up.  All the weird and unique things I did with just my dad and no one else.  Here are just a few of the things that I flashback to while cutting sandwiches: Continue reading →