Nora, I usually just put my post roast in a slow cooker with a chopped onion, a few carrots, a bay leaf, one or two chopped garlic cloves, salt and pepper, and half a bottle of wine. Then I let it cook until the meat's falling apart. It usually comes out pretty well.

Since there doesn't seem to be any way to totally block the absorption of princess culture via daycare osmosis, I've taken to explaining to Matilda that a princess has to be try her hardest to be smart, kind and brave, because a princess will someday be a queen and have a whole country to take care of, and queens who are stupid or mean or wicked tend to get eaten by dragons or tumble down rocky crevasses in the middle of a howling storm. The only bratty princesses are wicked stepsisters, and they too tend to get eaten, or turned into stone or sometimes merely banished for life.

JZ, you should write a parenting book!

I second the motion. Also, she gets a cupcake.

Hey, does anyone have a good slow cooker pot roast recipe?

Calli's suggestion sounds good to me. My crock pot beef roast tends to look like this: chopped carrots, onion, celery, and if I'm feeling really rustic, rutabaga, lob the roast in on top of that, season liberally with Italian seasoning blend (or whatever smells good to me that day), pepper, and Worcestershire sauce.

JZ, you should write a parenting book!

Yeah, except for the part where I did nothing all day yesterday but make her cry, from the moment she woke up:

Matilda: Mom, I'm awake! I want Daddy!
Me: I'll take you out to Daddy.
[I lug her out to the kitchen and just before depositing her in Daddy's arms I kiss the top of her muzzy curly head]
Me: Look, Daddy, I've got a snugglebug!
[Matilda immediately crumples into howls of rage, flings her self out of my arms, and runs sobbing back to bed, where she pees]

I also tried to make her wear the wrong kind of diaper, made her watch TV, made her turn the TV off, ate nine bites of the crust of her cinnamon toast when she only wanted me to eat eight, gave her fizzy water when she wanted milk which I should have known even though she'd just asked for fizzy water, put the milk in the wrong container, didn't give her enough, gave her so much it made her tummy hurt and made her More Sick, and cruelly insisted that it was bedtime at the outrageously early hour of 9:15. So, clearly, I'm a monster who deserves neither a parenting book contract nor a cupcake.

Though she does at least never call herself a princess when she's behaving like that, so maybe that's a win right there?

I third the pot roast advice and add: it tastes better when you cook with wine that's good enough to drink. Although I just about died when Gordon Ramsay made fruit soup with Veuve Clicquot.

I attempted food for the first time in 16 hours...pb&j on a toasted English muffin. Wish me luck.

So, clearly, I'm a monster who deserves neither a parenting book contract nor a cupcake.

I think dealing with all of that is exactly the definition of deserving a cupcake.

Wish me luck.

Good luck!

Also, you might want to avoid roller-coasters for a while....

Also, you might want to avoid roller-coasters for a while....