Spaghetti Dinner

I know that you can all imagine the content of these pictures without actually seeing them, but I promise they're very cute.  It is important, contextually, to understand that Margaret and red sauce have a long history.  First, when I was supposed to be feeling nesting impulses -- you know, the ones that would make me reorganize my linen cupboard* -- they came out in a desire to make and freeze enough red sauce to last us until Margaret was 6.  I didn't manage, but when one's calculations involve the thought "I hope these 8 pounds of meat are enough," one knows that one is making a huge amount of sauce.

Then, after she was born, said sauce came in very handy, since it provided a nice, quick meal that was nutritious.  And warm.  She tried to keep me from it, but I persevered.

Last night, I made some sauce for use in Ron's birthday lasagna, and we decided to have some for dinner as well.  And we let Margaret try it.

She thought that it was pretty good, I think, though she checked to make sure that everyone else was eating it too.  I felt a bit like an imperial taster, although with a good bit less trepidation, as no one was trying to poison me.

Anyway, she set to with a will, and soon had demolished quite a lot of spaghetti.  And painted her face besides.

There was visible oregano in the bath, which I found a bit startling.

She cleaned up all right afterwards.


*I tried, I really did, but ran up against the real obstacle that I had no linen cupboard.