Big Guy loves spinach.
He gobbles it in marinara, complaining, in fact, about commercial varieties that don’t have enough “spice.”
If you tell him he likes it, though, he will deny it to his dying breath. He’s …

I love to cook. I do not love making six meals a day.
I don’t mind at all spending money on quality ingredients for dishes. I hate like heck throwing away food.
For years, the guys have …

I had an air fern in my bedroom when I was a teen, and it was the perfect plant for the Black Widow of Horticulture — because, just ask the “neighbors,” I don’t do gardening …

“You know the cooking slump’s reached housing-market crisis proportions when your kid calls you out on it in the grocery store.

“”Mommy, why don’t you ever make this anymore?”" Big Guy asked Friday, longingly stroking a bag of elbow macaroni.

Overlooking the fact that the last time I made mac and cheese both guys went on hunger strikes, I had to admit he had a point. I’m deep in the throes of at least a two-month, maybe three, cooking block. It’s like writer’s block, but worse, because if I stare at a computer long enough, my fingers eventually will put prose on the monitor. Not always eloquent prose, but prose nonetheless.

Nothing has seemed to snap me out of the cooking slump. I’ll thumb through a book case full of cookbooks, and nothing sounds good

Say what you will about McDonald’s — and I’ve said a lot, only to take back most of it on a Friday evening when the guys are clamoring and I’ve forgotten to take dinner out to thaw — but you have to give Ronald credit .

That clown is on the ball when it comes to listing ingredients, thus earning the eternal gratitude and frequent patronage of any family with food allergies.

That’s why I was surprised that crack cocaine isn’t listed as a hamburger ingredient. I know it’s in there. How else do you explain Big Guy willingness to gobble one, sometimes two, while refusing a burger lovingly prepared by mom?

It couldn’t be because he’s stubborn and averse to trying new foods. Drug addiction has to be the answer.

I knew this afternoon we were in

“Forget good intentions. The road to hell actually is paved with Pop Tarts.

And I am the one who has visited this evil upon my young innocents, all because I gave into a moment of weakness.

Ever since Big Guy’s been old enough to spew his first puree at me, I’ve been careful about their diets. No juice until they were 2, and dessert only if they “”eat their good food.”" They have Cheetos and tortilla chips occasionally, but usually after meals.

I’ve always insisted on a healthy breakfast. Or, at least, tried mightily to. I’d spend half the weekend baking mupcakes packed with covert pumpkin or scones stuffed with surreptitious apple. Pastries, yes, but without trans fats and high-fructose corn syrup, which truly is a tool of the devil

But in

I look back fondly to the days when Big Guy played happily with his tiny pots and pans as I cooked. I recall happily the times when Little Guy was content to rummage the Tupperware while I fixed dinner.

Oh, wait. That was just last week.

It’s a whole new ballgame now that the guys have discovered the joy of cooking – you can create colossal messes and get in Mom’s way. What more could a kid want?

Big Guy long has been interested in “helping,” but on his terms, which usually involved covering the table, chairs, floor, himself and Little Guy with flour.

And Little Guy is interested in anything Big Guy does. He’s trying to catch up on those two years he lost due to being the

I did a triple-take when I glanced at a school lunch menu hanging on the fridge at a friend’s house a few months back.

Monday, chicken nuggets and fries. Tuesday, pizza. Wednesday, grilled cheese and fries. Thursday, cheeseburger and fries. Friday, super nachos.

What the heck? Weren’t we at least two years down the road on the “healthy school lunches” kick? Obviously, some districts weren’t getting the message.

That’s why I’m glad the Legislature stepped in with fairly strict new guidelines that become law Sunday. Obviously, some districts needed help getting the message.

Call it micromanagement, call it the nanny state, call it whatever you want. The bottom line for me is, we have an obesity epidemic in this country, with adult-onset diabetes showing up in grade schools. Something

The Mupcake Scam started around Halloween.

I had made muffins for a party and, just for fun and to pretend I still had time to decorate pastries, I topped each with a squiggle of purple icing and a smattering of ghost sprinkles. I put the leftovers on a cake plate, figuring I’d take them to work.

It took Big Guy 3.6 seconds to lock on the next morning.

“Cupcakes! I want cupcakes!”

Though I hadn’t finished my first cup of coffee, I had enough wits about me to run with it.”

“Cupcakes for breakfast? I don’t think so.”

“Please, Mommy, pleeeeeeeease!””

“Oh, all right. But only this once.””

Every morning since, he’s had mupcakes. Mupcakes made with evil things. Banana or pumpkin. Whole-wheat or graham flour. Low sugar and low fat.