I buy our groceries on Wednesday, so by Tuesday there's nothing left in this house of greedy boys but hot mustard and some croutons. Tuesday is when everything is done from scratch, when I organize and simmer and defrost and bake (and one of Roo's greatest passions in life is the carbohydrate). The house smells good, the dogs sprawl out under the stove hoping to catch a spill. Daddy is on duty and spends one-on-one time with Roo. He teaches him special Daddy things, like how to say "mazel tov!" every time Mommy comes out of the bathroom and how to strap a lighted spelunking helmet on a beagle. Mostly--mostly-- the computer is off, and we read a lot more cutting-edge literature while the bread rises.
Sometimes, I admit, it's a lot of work going without some of the more common conveniences like store-bought bread and a devoted personal assistant. And it's not like I have to wash the clothes by beating them on the rocks down on Plum Creek (although, if you've seen my basement, you know it is very close to a dark, dripping fungiform-filled grotto). But I wouldn't want my lads to grow up any other way.