Ahhhhh?

There's nothing like sinking into a tub full of hot water to relax and get away from the stress of motherhood -- until you realize you poured in your son's bubble bath instead of your own.

The lost hour

My husband decided, without checking any definitive source, that last night was the night we turn our clocks back an hour. So he did.

We went to bed at our regular time, looking forward to an extra hour of sleep and to waking to daylight instead of darkness.

This morning, while I was enjoying my cappucino and reading to my son, my husband discovered Daylight Savings Time doesn't end until next Sunday. Unbeknownst to me, he began changing the numerous clocks throughout the house ahead an hour.

I checked the pendulum clock in the hallway and still had plenty of time before breakfast. So my son and I finished the book we were reading. Entering the kitchen, I glanced at the clock on the microwave. How'd that happen? I wondered, stepping up the pace to cooking breakfast.

Sitting down to hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, toast and apples, I glanced at the clock above the sink in the kitchen. I was confused by the hour I had just regained.

"I haven't gotten to that one," my husband explained.

Sure signs of spring

Yesterday, I walked to work without my hat.

This morning, I washed my car.

This afternoon, my son came home from school covered head-to-toe in mud.

Great Super Bowl ad

I can imagine my son and his dad doing this.

An endorsement

Some things you just have to share, like David's Deli Tuscan Herb bagels. Even my 5-year-old son prefers them to any other bagel. They're available in the frozen food section at local grocery stores.

Bread of affliction

On the 6th day of Passover, one begins to get creative about what one puts on matzoh:

• Charoset
• Horseradish
• Fake butter
• Egg salad (made from boiled eggs left over from first-night seder)
• Peanut butter and jelly
• Hummus

Hosting the Passover seder

Selective memory can be a beautiful thing.

First-night seder is an involved event -- ritual foods eaten during a prescribed course of blessings, actions, readings and the retelling of the Jews' flight from slavery in Egypt, along with an elegant four-course meal that's followed by more blessings, more readings and a lot of singing.

Not only does the food need to be kosher, but kosher for Passover, meaning nothing with leavening or grain that ferments.

We've hosted first-night seder before and know what a big undertaking it can be, even when your guests are bringing most of the meal.

I also suscribe to the philosophy that you can always fit a few more guests around your table.

So I didn't flinch when our Passover guest list grew to 19. No problem. We already planned to borrow our friends' low-to-the-floor 8-foot by 4-foot gaming table so we could recline during the seder. Factor in our dining room table for guests who couldn't sit on the floor and there would be plenty of room.

But two tables meant two seder plates, two sets of serving dishes and 16 (3 guests didn't show) small plates for the requisite seder foods. By the time our soup course was finished, my dishwasher was full.

The main entree was served buffet-style from the kitchen; dessert from the dining room built-in. Both required 16 more plates, 16 sets of silverware, 16 water glasses, 16 wine or juice glasses, and water pitchers for each table, not to mention the stockpot for matzoh ball soup and other pots and pans used to heat the food our guests brought.

First-night seder equates to a ton of dishes -- three dishwasher loads, four-plus dish drainers full of the delicate or bulky items that don't go in the dishwasher. A day-and-a-half after the festive meal, I finally am done doing dishes.

As I put my recipes and cookbooks away, I found a list of past seder menus. I actually hosted two consecutive seders -- in 2006 and 2007. My selective memory really must have been selective in 2006.

By the way, I'm off now to vacuum matzoh crumbs from the dining room and living room. And there's still that behemoth table and a few platters to return.

Mashed potatoes and 3-D movies

My 5-year-old son experiences a number of firsts, which we duly celebrate, mark on calendars, write about in Web postings, and retell of to relatives and friends.

But as I near the half-century mark, I'm surprised by the number of firsts I still experience. Just this past week, I added seeing my first movie in 3-D and making mashed potatoes to my list of life experiences.

So how have I managed to never have made mashed potatoes in all my 48 years? I was pondering this with my exercise buddy the other day. I believe I know why.

When I watched my mother make mashed potatoes as a little girl, it was always at that critical time when she was trying to get all of the food ready and onto the table -- as well as get everyone to the table -- before the food cooled.

My questions of how much milk or butter to put in the potatoes would be answered by a frustrated-sounding, "You just know." And she never seemed satisfied -- "too lumpy" or "too runny" or "not enough salt," she would say -- as she critiqued the finished product. I and the rest of my family gobbled them up, oblivious.

But I grew up believing making mashed potatoes was one of the hardest things to do. When I hosted Thanksgiving dinners and guests asked what they could bring or do, I always offered for someone else to make the mashed potatoes. I satisfied my own mashed potato cravings with baked potatoes smothered in butter.

Last month, as I was mashing potatoes for knishes, I realized how close I was to making real mashed potatoes. It didn't seem that difficult. So I made some this week. The verdict: slightly lumpy and not enough salt.

Editor please

My husband received this fortune in his fortune cookie today:

"Be patient! The Great Wall didn't got build in one day."

We've been pondering the deeper meaning here, but so far can only conclude it's either an editing error or translation error.

Roller babes

My son and I really get a kick out of this video. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQcVllWpwGs

Running on empty

I'm not a big fan of cereal. But the other day, I had to be out the door early. Plus, I didn't feel like cooking breakfast.

I emptied the dregs of Great Grains with raisins and pecans into my bowl. That wouldn't be enough to fuel my morning. I weighed my options: add some of my husband's Grape Nuts, open a new box of Great Grains with cranberries and almonds. I decided to use the last of my son's Cheerios, a mix of plain and yogurt-coated.

Done. With full bowl of cereal in hand, I reached into the refrigerator. The milk jug felt awfully light as I removed it. Sure enough, about six drops were left.

On the bright side, my cereal stayed crunchy to the last bite.

The purist in me

On Memorial Day weekend, I tasted my first s'more. I roasted the marshmallows while my sister-in-law doled out the chocolate and graham crackers, and everyone assembled their own.

Some guests at our backyard barbecue were surprised I had never eaten a s'more in all of my 40-plus years. My brother-in-law theorized that it was because, well, you start eating the graham cracker or the chocolate and you just never quite get around to making them.

The real reason is that when it comes to treats, I'm a purist.

I like my pumpkin pie without whipped cream. I like my ice cream without toppings or sprinkles. I prefer my graham crackers dipped in milk and my marshmallows floating in hot chocolate. Dark Hershey's kisses are the only chocolates I cannot live without.

Don't get me wrong. The s'mores tasted good. My 4-year-old son and 3-year-old nephews loved them. I may even eat another one in my next 40-plus years.