It was a grey blustery day conducive to baking, so after work we cooked a batch of bagels. There are no good bagels in New Zealand. Well, I should revise that–we can’t get good bagels cheaply like we used to get from Wegmans. Grocery store bagels are the sad stale variety moldering in a plastic sleeve in the bread aisle. So from time to time I make them. I’m sure they’re not as good as my Long Island friend remembers from her childhood, with smooth chewy exterior with a dense moist interior, but they’re passable.

Milo likes to form his like playdough into various shapes, poking and proding with forks, fingers, and frosting decorators.

Naomi prefers to eat her dough raw, but when her cheeks are full she also likes to squish and pound the dough into submission.