Started a new book over the weekend called "I loved, I lost, I made spaghetti." I am at a lost as to how I could relate to someone so different from me.
Here is the synopsis:
From an affectionate alcoholic, to the classic New York City commitment-phobe, to a hipster aged past his sell date, and not one, but two novelists with Peter Pan complexes, Giulia has cooked for them all. She suffers each disappointment with resolute cheer (after a few tears) and a bowl of pastina (recipe included) and has lived to tell the tale so that other women may go out, hopefully with greater success, and if that’s not possible, at least have something good to eat.

Probably should be posting on goodreads rather than here.

I meet my home teachers last night. One mention he had a six month old, I stated, this ward seemed younger than my last. He said at last count there were 17 boys under a year. Don't see that I will be showing up for church in the near future.