I’ve said it here before: I have a problem with Mexican food. The problem of course, is that I could eat it nearly every single day of my life and never tire of it. I’ve passed this genetically on to my punks thanks to the cravings I had during my pregnancies. I dragged my poor husband out for steak enchiladas and guacamole nearly every weekend throughout the gestation of all three babies. They can be happy they got their love of Mexican food from me. Because I’m sure they’ll blame me later for other not-so-fun qualities I’ve passed on to them, attributes which we will not discuss here today – unless I have too many margaritas…hic!
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