Today was gloriously sunny, breezy and cool, just enough spring to green up the grass, but still chilly enough to snuggle up in a hoodie. So, for dinner, I wanted something with the same crispness.

I found a recipe for Vietnamese grilled pork here, and the combination of mint and spice seemed perfect.

The flavors in this dish come together amazingly well. The coupling of the fresh mint and lettuce with the heat of the sriracha and was a great compliment to the charred bits of meat. My husband was brave enough to try my culinary offering this evening, and was surprised at how much he liked it, although, he said, “This would taste better over spaghetti noodles instead.”

Don’t mind him. He eats Hot Pockets.

*A note about fish sauce. Fish sauce is made from fish, in this case, anchovies. It smells like fish-flavored cat food. It tastes like fish-flavored cat food. Don’t make the mistake of tasting the sauce by itself and then deciding not to make this dish. It’s completely different when combined with the other ingredients.

**Another note about fish sauce. Dear husband, I served you anchovies without telling you. I know you said you hated them, but I figured since they were ground up and fermented, you might change your mind. Glad you didn’t notice.

I was puttering around Hobby Lobby the other day when I happened upon a book of patterns and instructions to make sock creatures. I’ve already got an addiction to sock monkeys, so of course it had to come home with me.

I spent the next week or so gathering materials, and perused the pages of the book until I decided for my first try, I’d make a lion. I had such a good time making this little guy, and for a first effort, I think he turned out pretty cute. I think I’m going to try to make a stegosaurus next!

I’m spending a few days this week helping a friend out by looking after her three year old while her regular caretaker is in the hospital. It’s been quite awhile since I’ve gotten up and left the house before seven, but I have to admit, I actually missed being up and around during the early hours.

My new little charge this week is a sweet blonde wisp of a girl, a lover of everything Disney princess-y, and a generally agreeable child. She tried to offer her toys to my son, but quickly took them back when she realized that his idea of “playing” is to put everything in his mouth. He sucked half the glitter off of Snow White’s skirt before she managed to retrieve the poor sleepy wench.

Although she is an only child, she is also soon to be a big sister, and she did very well in the roles of spoon feeder and diaper disposer, and was only a little put out at having to play quietly each time the baby had to be rocked to sleep.

Looking back on the day, I think she taught me more today than I taught her. I learned that the proper names for Beauty and the Beast, Toy Story 3 and The Little Mermaid are Beet, Buzz, and Ah-Ah-Ahhhh, respectively. I also learned that when my son is able to walk, I will be enjoying an audience when I poop.

I’ve been pooping alone for many years, and it has gone splendidly, until today when I was informed that she was not leaving the room so I could do my business, that I needed her to stay.

“Why?” I inquired.

“So I can wipe,” she answered earnestly.

“Errr,” I wondered. “I hope she’s not disappointed that I’m able to do that myself.”

When it came time to take care of that task, she was quite upset that I did not need assistance, and stated several times that if I would just wait, her mommy would do it.

That made me think back to the time my new husband took my five-year-old nephew to the restroom at Mazzio’s Pizza once. My nephew took a long time to do his business, and when my husband went in to check on him, my nephew had assumed the position. My husband was understandably taken aback when confronted with the poo-smeared heiney, because he assumed (correctly) that five year olds can wipe themselves.

But my nephew insisted that his mom always wiped his butt, and that he didn’t know how. So, my husband helped him out, albeit reluctantly, and they came back to the table.

There, my nephew told us what happened, and then gleefully informed my husband that he knew how to properly clean his own rear, and just wanted to see if he could get him to do it.

Conniving little brat, don’t ya think? I am indeed so very proud.

I guess this illustrates a major difference between girls and boys. My friend’s precious daughter wanted to be helpful to me, even in the bathroom, while my nephew wanted to see how long he could get away with having someone else do the “dirty work!”