I suspect every American mom out there struggles with some brand of personal schizophrenia. For some, it has to do with clothing. Whatever you wore before kids, you're likely to have made the switch to only things that can be easily washed, that you don't mind spit-up on, and that are comfortable enough to sit on the floor in once you've had kids. At least if you're staying at home with your kids, you have.
I don't struggle so much with clothing these days, but maybe that's because I've had a kid for almost 10 years now and can barely remember what a lovely vintage frock feels like against my skin anymore. For me, I find myself a bit schizophrenic about food.
To wit, on tonight's menu at my house is homemade vichysoisse, a tossed salad with homemade mustard-shallot vinaigrette and...fish sticks. Not fillets that I have picked up at Whole Foods, then lovingly sliced and hand-breaded my own self with French baguette crumbs that I have personally supervised on their journey to crumb-dom in my food processor.
I'm talking Gorton's frozen, buy one get one free at Harris Teeter yesterday. "30 Crunchy Golden" in a bright yellow box and shit. Go ahead and laugh it up, ladies. Former pastry chef and make-her-own-organic-babyfood has been laid very, VERY low.
I might be bothered to whip up my own tartar sauce. Or maybe not.