What I should have said to that crowd was that our interrogation of Woolf’s reproductive status was a soporific and pointless detour from the magnificent questions her work poses. (I think at some point I said, “Fuck this shit,” which carried the same general message and moved everyone on from the discussion.) After all, many people have children; only one made To the Lighthouse and The Waves, and we were discussing Woolf because of the books, not the babies.

The line of questioning was familiar enough to me. A decade ago, during a conversation that was supposed to be about a book I had written on politics, the British man interviewing me insisted that instead of talking about the products of my mind, we should talk about the fruit of my loins, or the lack thereof. Onstage, he hounded me about why I didn’t have children. No answer I gave could satisfy him. His position seemed to be that I must have children, that it was incomprehensible that I did not, and so we had to talk about why I didn’t, rather than about the books I did have.

As it happens, there are many reasons why I don’t have children: I am very good at birth control; though I love children and adore aunthood, I also love solitude; I was raised by unhappy, unkind people, and I wanted neither to replicate their form of parenting nor to create human beings who might feel about me the way that I felt about my begetters; I really wanted to write books, which as I’ve done it is a fairly consuming vocation. I’m not dogmatic about not having kids. I might have had them under other circumstances and been fine — as I am now.

We want you to use this recipe as inspiration and have therefore not specified exact measurements for the vegetables. Choose your favorites and adapt the amount to how many people you are serving. It is not very expensive food either and is perfect if you are on a budget. Any leftovers can be used to create similar bowls or make awesome warm sandwiches/toasts the following days.

1 batch cooked brown rice (or millet, quinoa or buckwheat)
Oven Roasted (or steamed) Vegetables (see instructions below)
Raw Vegetables (see instructions below)
Kale chips
Sauerkraut, store bought or homemade
Pumpkin Seeds, whole or roughly chopped 
Green pesto
White Vegan Sauce (see recipe below)
Sundried Tomato & Lentil Spread (see recipe below)

In a very large and wide serving bowl: Arrange the lettuce to cover the bottom of the bowl. Then spoon up the rice in the center. Place the roasted and raw vegetables and sauerkraut in a circle around the rice. Then arrange small jars with the dipping sauces in the serving bowl or on the side and sprinkle over pumpkin seeds. Dig in! (Alternatively, let everyone pick their favourite veggies and place them in smaller bowls.)

04.10.2017  · Driving to a dinner engagement, a Parisian woman gets stuck in the mother of all traffic jams, offers a ride to a handsome pedestrian, and enters a ...

"The mother of all X", a hyperbole which has been used to refer to something as "great" or "the greatest of its kind", became a popular snowclone template in the 1990s.

Define the mother of all : —used to say that something is larger, better, worse, etc., than all other things of the … — the mother of all in a sentence

What I should have said to that crowd was that our interrogation of Woolf’s reproductive status was a soporific and pointless detour from the magnificent questions her work poses. (I think at some point I said, “Fuck this shit,” which carried the same general message and moved everyone on from the discussion.) After all, many people have children; only one made To the Lighthouse and The Waves, and we were discussing Woolf because of the books, not the babies.

The line of questioning was familiar enough to me. A decade ago, during a conversation that was supposed to be about a book I had written on politics, the British man interviewing me insisted that instead of talking about the products of my mind, we should talk about the fruit of my loins, or the lack thereof. Onstage, he hounded me about why I didn’t have children. No answer I gave could satisfy him. His position seemed to be that I must have children, that it was incomprehensible that I did not, and so we had to talk about why I didn’t, rather than about the books I did have.

As it happens, there are many reasons why I don’t have children: I am very good at birth control; though I love children and adore aunthood, I also love solitude; I was raised by unhappy, unkind people, and I wanted neither to replicate their form of parenting nor to create human beings who might feel about me the way that I felt about my begetters; I really wanted to write books, which as I’ve done it is a fairly consuming vocation. I’m not dogmatic about not having kids. I might have had them under other circumstances and been fine — as I am now.

We want you to use this recipe as inspiration and have therefore not specified exact measurements for the vegetables. Choose your favorites and adapt the amount to how many people you are serving. It is not very expensive food either and is perfect if you are on a budget. Any leftovers can be used to create similar bowls or make awesome warm sandwiches/toasts the following days.

1 batch cooked brown rice (or millet, quinoa or buckwheat)
Oven Roasted (or steamed) Vegetables (see instructions below)
Raw Vegetables (see instructions below)
Kale chips
Sauerkraut, store bought or homemade
Pumpkin Seeds, whole or roughly chopped 
Green pesto
White Vegan Sauce (see recipe below)
Sundried Tomato & Lentil Spread (see recipe below)

In a very large and wide serving bowl: Arrange the lettuce to cover the bottom of the bowl. Then spoon up the rice in the center. Place the roasted and raw vegetables and sauerkraut in a circle around the rice. Then arrange small jars with the dipping sauces in the serving bowl or on the side and sprinkle over pumpkin seeds. Dig in! (Alternatively, let everyone pick their favourite veggies and place them in smaller bowls.)

What I should have said to that crowd was that our interrogation of Woolf’s reproductive status was a soporific and pointless detour from the magnificent questions her work poses. (I think at some point I said, “Fuck this shit,” which carried the same general message and moved everyone on from the discussion.) After all, many people have children; only one made To the Lighthouse and The Waves, and we were discussing Woolf because of the books, not the babies.

The line of questioning was familiar enough to me. A decade ago, during a conversation that was supposed to be about a book I had written on politics, the British man interviewing me insisted that instead of talking about the products of my mind, we should talk about the fruit of my loins, or the lack thereof. Onstage, he hounded me about why I didn’t have children. No answer I gave could satisfy him. His position seemed to be that I must have children, that it was incomprehensible that I did not, and so we had to talk about why I didn’t, rather than about the books I did have.

As it happens, there are many reasons why I don’t have children: I am very good at birth control; though I love children and adore aunthood, I also love solitude; I was raised by unhappy, unkind people, and I wanted neither to replicate their form of parenting nor to create human beings who might feel about me the way that I felt about my begetters; I really wanted to write books, which as I’ve done it is a fairly consuming vocation. I’m not dogmatic about not having kids. I might have had them under other circumstances and been fine — as I am now.

We want you to use this recipe as inspiration and have therefore not specified exact measurements for the vegetables. Choose your favorites and adapt the amount to how many people you are serving. It is not very expensive food either and is perfect if you are on a budget. Any leftovers can be used to create similar bowls or make awesome warm sandwiches/toasts the following days.

1 batch cooked brown rice (or millet, quinoa or buckwheat)
Oven Roasted (or steamed) Vegetables (see instructions below)
Raw Vegetables (see instructions below)
Kale chips
Sauerkraut, store bought or homemade
Pumpkin Seeds, whole or roughly chopped 
Green pesto
White Vegan Sauce (see recipe below)
Sundried Tomato & Lentil Spread (see recipe below)

In a very large and wide serving bowl: Arrange the lettuce to cover the bottom of the bowl. Then spoon up the rice in the center. Place the roasted and raw vegetables and sauerkraut in a circle around the rice. Then arrange small jars with the dipping sauces in the serving bowl or on the side and sprinkle over pumpkin seeds. Dig in! (Alternatively, let everyone pick their favourite veggies and place them in smaller bowls.)

04.10.2017  · Driving to a dinner engagement, a Parisian woman gets stuck in the mother of all traffic jams, offers a ride to a handsome pedestrian, and enters a ...

"The mother of all X", a hyperbole which has been used to refer to something as "great" or "the greatest of its kind", became a popular snowclone template in the 1990s.

Define the mother of all : —used to say that something is larger, better, worse, etc., than all other things of the … — the mother of all in a sentence

I love being a mom of boys and I know people aren't trying to be mean, so these kind of comments don't normally bother me. (Well, maybe except for the last one... who wants to ever think their child will go off and never return? What a horrible thought.) But the remarks aren't exactly encouraging or uplifting either.

Recently, though, I heard a comment about my boys that I continually turned around in my head until it seeped deep into my heart. It made me feel like I could not possibly be blessed more than by being a mother of three sons. My family and I were eating breakfast at my grandmother's senior living center. It was normal family mayhem. My husband and I helped our kids through the buffet. ("No, you cannot pile only doughnuts on your plate.") We were up and down during the meal, refilling plates. We cleaned up an orange juice spill. Then our chaos was interrupted.

A resident came over to our table and said to me, "You have such beautiful boys." She hesitated, as if trying to decide if she should say more, before finally adding, "I have three sons, too, and I love it. They take such good care of me." She said it with such joy and pride, and went on to tell me how they treated her so well. The wisdom of her 90-something years and the passion in her voice as she spoke of her sons stirred my emotions. She ended our conversation by firmly stating, "They take better care of me than any daughter ever could. I am so happy I have three sons."

What I should have said to that crowd was that our interrogation of Woolf’s reproductive status was a soporific and pointless detour from the magnificent questions her work poses. (I think at some point I said, “Fuck this shit,” which carried the same general message and moved everyone on from the discussion.) After all, many people have children; only one made To the Lighthouse and The Waves, and we were discussing Woolf because of the books, not the babies.

The line of questioning was familiar enough to me. A decade ago, during a conversation that was supposed to be about a book I had written on politics, the British man interviewing me insisted that instead of talking about the products of my mind, we should talk about the fruit of my loins, or the lack thereof. Onstage, he hounded me about why I didn’t have children. No answer I gave could satisfy him. His position seemed to be that I must have children, that it was incomprehensible that I did not, and so we had to talk about why I didn’t, rather than about the books I did have.

As it happens, there are many reasons why I don’t have children: I am very good at birth control; though I love children and adore aunthood, I also love solitude; I was raised by unhappy, unkind people, and I wanted neither to replicate their form of parenting nor to create human beings who might feel about me the way that I felt about my begetters; I really wanted to write books, which as I’ve done it is a fairly consuming vocation. I’m not dogmatic about not having kids. I might have had them under other circumstances and been fine — as I am now.

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