It's that time of year again when Grandpa Christenson brings us a 50-pound box of Idaho spuds. These are not your ordinary spuds. These are what they call "50 count:" 50 potatoes per 50-pound box. That's right: each potato is about a pound a piece. You can't find them in the grocery stores. You have to have an "insider" to the potato world to get these particular potatoes.
And why are these potatoes so superior? They're great for home fries. The peeling is easier. And now that we have a mandolin, the slicing is easier. Don't waste your money on any of the friers. We've tried a few and they always konk out within a year. Just put the oil in a large pot. A side of ketchup and dinner is served.
Nohea has adopted a new nightly ritual where she skoots the chair around the kitchen and climbs up on the counters. She starts opening the high cabinets looking for heaven-knows what.
Lissy told me yesterday that if she has a boy when she grows up, she's going to name him Jamesy Bear like our neighbors.
Lilia is starting to spell EVERYTHING. Those who have had kindergartners understand this phenomenon.
I also should have never taught the girls the word "funky," as in, "Nohea, you smell funky." They're not so great at pronouncing the "n" part of the word. Please forgive.