Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Best Gift Packaging Ever.

My brother and sister in law sent Max a gift in the mail and I thought I'd share it with you because it was such a cool idea and made such an impression on my kids. It was perfect.

It arrived in a mailing tube and when he opened it he saw it was absolutely full of candy. It was full of so much candy we had to keep grabbing bowls to fill with it. In the end we had four bowls full of candy and as we filled each one Max kept laughing hysterically.

It was probably the most candy he's ever seen in one place before.

Also inside the mailing tube were a few Hot Wheels cars and a gift card to Target. My kids love getting gift cards for their birthdays because they enjoy helping to fortify the economy. Also, they like collecting stuff. Lots of things with lots of pieces and they're always looking for a very specific piece of this stuff usually right around bedtime.

Honestly though I could have pocketed the gift card for myself and he'd still be just as thrilled with ALL THE CANDY IN THE WORLD.

Mighty Finds: Portland

More of our Portland Finds are up at the Mighty Finds shop.

Last time we did a thrifting trip, I was surrounded by our wonderful finds all the time and even though it felt really good to show you all what we'd found, I spent a lot of the time thinking, "If this doesn't sell, I'd love to put it in the family room...."

This time all the stuff is at Maggie's place so when it shows up in the shop, I find myself nodding and smiling at the stuff I'd forgotten we found.

Also I remember how when we were in Portland it seemed like I was getting a sneak peek at spring. I thought Portland and San Francisco were just a month ahead of Detroit. I thought soon we'd be feeling the same way.

It's been over a month now and winter just keeps coming. I've lowered my standards from hoping there's no more snow. Now I'm just hoping there are no more snow days off of school.

Things I shouldn't even want to write about but here I go.

First my foot would like to apologize for this. Also this. It was just really needing some attention and kind of screwed things up for a little while.

Sorry.

On the bright side my foot feels almost completely back to normal. It feels so good I kind of want to take up tap dancing. That's the other part of me complaining and whining about being ill or in pain. I also like to, after the fact, sit back and talk about how much better I feel. I will never take a healthy foot for granted again. At least until next week.

It's still a little puzzling to think about how all this happened and what exactly caused it. Though Logan assures me it was not cancer or alien surveillance equipment or tabbouleh or even spanakopita lodged in my foot. Between us, I think he's just jealous that foreign foods don't grow in the ball of his foot, especially since his feet do things like carry him running 26.2 miles in a row.

But most of all I am so happy to be keenly unaware of my foot on a minute by minute basis. Feet are very useful but honestly, they're not supposed to need a ton of attention.

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Something I've wanted to talk about but haven't because it's so stupid to even bring up but if I don't do it it's going to keep swirling around my brain begging to be shared.

Our dentist suggested we buy a Sonicare toothbrush because it's not enough my husband has sent them all to Mexico on vacation 30 to 50 times with his really irritatingly troublesome teeth. No, no, they want us to spend more.

We bought it because Madison's mouth was a disaster area. Within three weeks of her dental cleaning her teeth had collected a ridiculous amount of plaque. By the time we made it to her next scheduled cleaning it was a horror show in her mouth.

If this wasn't exactly the type of thing that will cause our children to kill us in our sleep when they reach maturity and read our websites, I'd show you a picture of her mouth before. But I can't because she's the kind of kid who would kill you in your sleep for putting a picture of her plaque ravaged teeth up on the internet. I wouldn't blame her. It was hard to believe this kid was brushing (albeit half assedly) in the morning, after lunch, after school and at bedtime.

In fact I think the dentist believed we were lying and she actually brushed her teeth with a handful of Skittles.

So even though she has no cavities and I seriously doubted the effectiveness of something claiming to be SONIC! on our teeth. You know, like the MACH 3 razors? What the hell? They're fast? What are you even trying to say?

Within two weeks all the crap on her teeth was gone without a visit to the dentist. My teeth and gums are remarkably cleaner and healthier looking. Best of all, the brush turns itself off at two minutes which prevents the kids from screaming at us every 3.6 seconds, "AM I DONE?????"

We bought this one FYI, although it's cheaper at Costco.
*Please note: we bought it. Was not given to us. I'll always tell you if something was a gift and I decide to share it with you.

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Another of the things rattling around in my head I really shouldn't need to tell you but I really want to and I can't stop it.

I love the song More Than A Feeling by Boston.
Especially because you can clap with it.
Also because I sing it "HOOOOOKED ON A FEEEEEELING....."
This makes my Logan insane.

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One more random thing.

The other day I was annoying Logan about something, probably his irrational disdain for mayonnaise, as I am prone to do in the morning as he races around to get to the office. It's a fun little game I play.

Finally when I brought up the pickle thing, how he hates them with the fire of a billion burning suns and that's just irrational.

He shot back, "Why don't you shut your Von Trapp."

Marital Tip: If you feel like you need to tell your spouse to shut his/her pie hole, do it with humor and you may very well get away with it.

Of course your results may vary.

I picked the wrong week to give up drinking.

I've been trying to write more often because, you know, I enjoy it. But then this thing happens where something is physically painful to me and I can't stop talking about how painful it is. I want to describe the pain. The depth, the searing, my inability to remember ever feeling good. I want to come up with metaphors for the pain just so you really understand what is going on. I need you to know. (Please See: Every Time I've Ever Gotten Sick In My Entire Life)

The thing is, I think we all agree this is kind of, I don't know, boring to read? But guess what? OUCH. It's the only thing on my mind right now.

On Sunday we went for a walk to the grocery store, it wasn't a particularly long walk. But after as we prepared Easter dinner for my family I began to limp because this spot on the bottom of my foot began to hurt.

By the end of the night my jaw was radiating with the pain, which I at first attributed to some slightly strained relationships I have with some members of my family. But then they left and my foot began developing it's own gravitational pull. I went to bed at 9:30 and in bed attempted, lamaze breathing and visualized myself as an amputee.

This did not work and instead my dreams consisted of flashing colors which represented the pain. When I wasn't sleeping that night I was waking Logan up to give him status reports on the pain in my foot. "Babe, it's making me drool it hurts so badly. I'm salivating with pain. DON'T YOU EVEN CARE????"

Up until last night I had convinced myself this was not a wart (Ugly word. Ugly thing.) and was instead a splinter of unknown origin since I have to wear shoes every second of every day or risk frostbite. Or it was cancer. A lump of cancer on the ball of my foot. This was a soothing thought when faced with a wart, not that I'm pro cancer or anything. But I'd rather say "I have cancer on the ball of my foot." Than say, "I've got the world's most disgusting wart on the ball of my foot."

But last night as the entire world rotated around the pain in my foot and I read up on things that happen on people's feet, I'd come to accept that I had a wart and I was probably going to have to deal with it for 3 months to 5 years.

I finally saw the doctor and she decided it was not a wart. It was "something" foreign, like tabbouleh, in my foot.

Remember a few years ago when I got a pedicure and my feet were so ticklish (ugh....foot fetishists....) I nearly killed a man with my over-reactive foot. Having my foot shot up with searing lidocaine did not go very well because I have over-reactive feet and also? It hurts like a mother fucker.

After some (still painful on my only partially numbed foot, but please don't stick that needle in my foot again) cutting and poking around the doctor didn't find anything in my foot. So now I have not just a painful section on the ball of my foot, I also have a hole in my foot and potentially some sort of alien surveillance equipment and maybe even a stealthy blob of cancer.

I don't know.

All I know is it still hurts, it's spring break and every word that comes out of my mouth is directly tied to the pain in my foot. In fact, soon the hole in the bottom of my foot will take over the speech portion of my brain.

If you see me hobbling around town and in greeting I scream, "GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKER". It wasn't me. It was the hole in my foot.

I'm sure Kim Worthy is a racist.

Thank God.

I sort of want to be Barack Obama's New Bicycle.

The Use and Abuse of Black Anger

The Democratic presidential front-runner was talking candidly about the anger that festers in this nation's African-American kitchens and barbershops, a bitterness he said had fueled the most incendiary sermons penned by his former pastor, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright.

"That anger is not always productive," Obama noted. "It keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change.

"At times," he added, the same anger "had been exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings."

[Brian Dickerson at Freep.com]

Wait a minute. Wait....who's done that recently. It's right on the tip of my tongue.

Oh Hai Kwame!

April Fools Gift Guide

I'm closing out an April Fool's Gift Guide at Mighty Junior today. You should look. What was funniest about putting this list together is how dumb the pranks are, but when you look at them through the eyes of a kid. Holy Shit this stuff is HILARIOUS.

Here it is.

When you pull out the fake vomit, you’re kind of a jackass. When a five-year-old does it, it’s suddenly clever. Life is unfair. Here’s a collection of classic pranks that are suddenly new again in the hands of a kid.

The favorite in our house? Snakes in a Can. (And the grown man I mention who fell out of his chair? Dutch in a hilariously played out reaction. The best one yet.)

Random, on a Wednesday no less.

And I'd still close my f-ing eyes.

Hire your own papparazzo to take your picture. "....the subject is photographed completely naturally, living life as normal." A very intriguing idea. I often let my face slip into an inexplicable scowl when I'm walking around. I'm not unhappy, it's like my default face which is a huge bummer. I started to notice this because store clerks and waiters would ask me if something was wrong. Friendly!

(Via BB-Blog)

Today My Money Didn't Want To Stay In My Pockets

It costs a lot of money (and humiliation) to get your car fixed after you ram it into the side of your garage. I've had to tell 10 people in the last two days that, No, I'm fine from "the accident" I was going 2 miles an hour. In my driveway. Insurance adjuster: "Wow, and you just kept going."

No sir, I'm no quitter!

We also went to the orthodontist for a second opinion. We did this because the first orthodontist was about 97 years old and wanted to make a wooden model of Maddie's teeth. We thought perhaps orthodontia had progressed in the last 50 years this (very nice) older gentleman has been practicing. We were correct and were very happy with the second opinion. Six weeks ago this would have seemed like an astronomical amount to spend on my kid's mouth, but suddenly it seems so cheap. Maddie's just happy this doctor doesn't use head gear.

The Can't Fail New Year's Resolution:

I left the cleaning ladies a note today which said they didn't have to try too hard to get the baked on remnants of a little home brewing accident off the stovetop. Also? YOU COMPLETE ME. Please don't ever leave.

It's such a luxurious thing having someone come to your house every other week to clean your house. I told Logan I would rather eat pasta and black beans three nights a week than give them up. I love them. Making this situation one of my New Year's Resolutions was pretty smart, ingenious really. Next year I'm going to promise to eat Fritos every night of the week and to buy fresh flowers once a week.

Already Twittered, But Here You Go

I don't remember where I first saw this print by Mati Rose McDonough but it struck me as something I wanted to buy. I realized right after I ordered it that this is exactly what my last round of therapy was all about.

Me: "Blah Blah Blah"
Him: "There is nothing wrong with you."
Me: "But, I didn't tell you this. Blah Blah Blah."
Him: "There is nothing wrong with you."
Continue for six months, drop $1500. And still, in spite of yourself, often feel there actually is something wrong with you.

For $25 I'm just going to hang this in our downstairs bath so I can get a friendly reminder that there really is nothing wrong with me. And when we have guests, they'll be washing their hands and see it too.

Hopefully they'll think about themselves for minute with a little more gentleness, "It's true."
Hopefully they will not think, "But Holy Crap there is something wrong with Melissa."

The Most Sober St Patrick's Day Of My Life

Last night we attended Max's cub scout Pinewood Derby.

The saddest part of the event was that Max had picked out wheels which were not legal. This meant his car was disqualified. I don't know who was sadder, Max because he couldn't race his buddies. Logan because he did all that work for nothing. Or Maddie and I who had to watch about 58 races through every single cub scout group (Tigers, Wolves, Bears, Webelos 1 AND 2...I think there was a platypus group in there too.)

Finally Max (and his buddy TJ....who also used illegal wheels) got a turn in the open race segment.

Fortunately TJ and Max happened to have the coolest cars in the pack.

An entire day devoted to beer, it just doesn't seem right.

How was your weekend? Ours was uneventful, except for the two giant pots of grain, hops and malt which boiled on our stove for 18 hours. Logan and two pals from work have started brewing beer together. The last time they undertook the task I was busy gallivanting about Portland. This time I got to see what it was like. What it was like was watching three overgrown puppies trying to brew beer. No, maybe something with opposable thumbs, like chimpanzees.

The discussion went mainly like this:

"Well, the book says...."
"Yeah, I know but that doesn't matter."
"But don't you think we should..."
"Screw the book man! I think we should be as non precise as possible."
"Yes, I totally agree. I'm going to stick my foot in it."
"Don't leave James alone with the beer."

The good news is, no one had to pee in the beer. They put this moss in it. This moss which smelled exactly like a Leprechaun had peed his magical urine all over it.

Before they got started they cracked open a few bottles of the last batch.

They were a little concerned because the last time they tried it, it didn't have much carbonation.

But look it has a frothy head. [Insert immature statement about getting frothy head here.]

Here's Tyler tasting it. You can tell by the maniacal look in his eyes that it's really good.

Then they got to work. Well first they had another beer.

But then seriously guys. Let's do this.

James may or may not be adding boogers to his sack of grain. He wanted it to be authentic and if you think brewers in the middle ages were all 'sterile' about making their beer you're full of it. In fact, I think monks are the dirtiest people I know and look what they do with beer.

Great news though. This magazine fell right into the boiling pot of wheat beer. It was freshly delivered from the postman and I'm pretty sure his hands weren't sterile. Maybe the beer will have a little Lighter Fresher Tex Mex influence now.

43 hours later and 3-5 mishaps later, the beer was ready to cool and get some yeast.

Logan wouldn't like me to tell you that he asked me to stand outside so we could take this totally gay staged picture of them studying the yeast. Oops!

They're almost done now, but Tyler wants to know exactly how shit faced he could get on this beer so he's testing the alcohol content. He's hoping it's stronger than Canadian beer.

Finally here's a picture of Tito's vodka, something we were turned onto on our last trip to Texas. It's handmade by Tito Jackson I'm pretty sure. It has very little to do with the beer brewing but I've been meaning to tell you about it and it never really comes up. You use vodka to let the air out of the beer as it ferments, the alcohol keeps crap from getting back in. Which is important since the brew already has Leprechaun pee and a totally not sanitized Martha Stewart magazine in it.

Today is St Patrick's Day. To celebrate I am going to be watching Max compete in the Pinewood Derby at school. Maybe they'll have green Kool-Aid!

I simply can't express how happy I am it is finally Friday.

You can see the latest gift guide at Mighty Junior today. This week we've found a lot of great things for your baby's first Easter basket. Make sure to throw in a bunch of really good chocolate so you can "help" them eat it.

My personal favorite write up is here.

My grandmother used to make yo-yo dolls from her extra quilting fabric. This colorful bunny reminds me of those dolls. The best part is, you don’t have to learn to quilt, but you’ll still sound like a douche if you tell people it’s hand made by Bolivian artisans.

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The kids got McDonald's for lunch the other day. Can you explain this "toy"?

This is a toy from the television show Camp Lazlo.

The bottom part opens up to reveal a pencil. The toy reads, "Made In China"

(Aside, Max said the other day, "Chinese people are super good at making stuff." Me, "Why do you say that?" "Because they make almost EVERYTHING." Well Max, let me tell you a little something about cheap labor.)

The confusing part is the pencil itself. It reads, "Vietnam". You'll have to trust me because my lens had a bit of trouble focusing on the tiny letters.

I don't know what it means, but I'll tell you, I plan on putting the Vietnam pencil in my wallet so I can befuddle the entire state of Michigan.

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In other news, the sleep doctor called to let me know I am....lazy. Which we knew for the most part already.

The next step is being tested for Celiac's Disease next, though I truly don't think that's my issue. If it is and that's what's making me so tired all the time, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I mean, imagine the weight I'd lose when all my favorite foods are taken out of my life (well, except bacon).

I'll also get my thyroid checked and when that happens I'm sure the internet will tell me the exact name of the test I need to ask for because you are all good for that type of thing.

Then, if none of that turns up anything, I'll just start snorting cocaine. Whatever it takes.

Until then I'm just sleeping a lot.

Yesterday I had to take a table down to my friend's house. I've been trapped in the house with the kids for 5 days now and when I got to my friend's house to give her table back, I never wanted to leave. I wanted to wrap my body around her head and just talk about things. Things not involving body temperature, clogged noses or how incredibly hot the Jonas Brothers are.

But I didn't want to be a nuisance and besides if I'm not with the kids 24 hours a day, something might happen to their body temperature, or one of the Jonas Brothers might start dating someone and then what? I'd miss it! That's what.

Melissa Summers Home For Convalescents

Sunday night Max wrapped himself in a blanket and laid down on the sofa in a ball. When I made our little bacon snacks I talked about earlier this week, he ate a bite and said he was done. It was then I noticed the smoke steaming from his head and thought to take his temperature.

He has been sick ever since.

Maddie was hit on Monday night, when I noticed her walking around looking like the burn outs from high school.

I can count on one hand the number of times my kids have had fevers. They never get fevers. Which is good because one time Maddie had a febrile seizure and Logan and I, in that horrible set of moments when her eyes were in the back of her head and drool was coming out of her mouth and she was shaking uncontrollably and the EMTs took her to their ambulance, believed with absolutely no uncertainty she was dying.

Fevers make me a bit jumpy.

So for this entire week we've had dueling fevers, one kid loses theirs, the other gets it. I get that one down and the other's goes up.

I really wasn't going to complain (very much...sorry Twitter) because no one's puking. It's really just a fever for the most part and that's really not all that bad. It could be worse! I could have sick kids and be an armless potato farmer. But really, the sickness(es) could be worse.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love that my kids go to school every day?

When Logan and I got married we went on our honeymoon, as often happens after a wedding. I love Logan. I could gaze lovingly into his eyes for hours. Sure, there are some things I don't love, like the compulsion to run 26.2 miles, but overall I love the shit out of that guy.

On our honeymoon I was probably even more gooey for the guy since you know we'd just tied the knot and the world was our oyster and he didn't even know about running yet. Still, by day five of our trip we'd sit at dinner and think, "Wow, we can't really even talk about our day because....we've done EXACTLY the same thing for the last five days."

I'm a person, no matter how much I love you, I'm going to need some time away from you every once in a while. I want you to do some things, and I want to do some things and then when we're done doing our things I want to gaze lovingly into your eyes for hours.

I love my kids. If I had to go back to the baby store and pick out new kids, I'd pick these exact same ones. Yes, I wish Maddie liked to eat....anything I cook. And yes, I would love it if getting Max to take a shower didn't involve screaming wails of displeasure. But overall, I love the shit out of these guys too and I'd want them even if I could choose from all the kids in all the land.

And yet, I haven't left the house in 5 days and I've been surrounded by kids that entire time. I'd like to miss them, just a teeny tiny bit.

Also I would love to go to the grocery store and buy real food to put in my cupboards because I'm tired of eating mustard for lunch.

I did leave them alone this morning so I could buy some milk, bread and more children's motrin....at the gas station at the end of my street. I didn't really think I'd be doing my grocery shopping at the gas station and I have to tell you, I don't like spending $10 on a four ounce bottle of children's motrin and $5 on a half gallon of milk.

But really, it can only get better. I mean, get better before next week when spring break starts and we're home together for another 10 excruciating days.

We Are Every Midwestern Cliche, And It's Winter So I've Stopped Caring.

Logan joined a bowling league with people from work. And, like everything my robotic spouse does, he programmed himself for all out participation. He bought a ball, he got his name engraved on the ball. Got team shirts (with name embroidery) and even bought a retro bowling ball bag. He is into it, just like he's into everything. He's like the marathon runner of bowling.

I like bowling as a hobby far more than I like marathon running as a hobby since it requires about 1/1000th of the money and half the time. I would say 1/100th of the time, but bowling goes for, literally, 43 weeks a year and Logan isn't happy being just an 'average' bowler, he likes to practice.

A weekend ago, we all went bowling as a "Family Activity"! Which would have worked when Maddie was 7 but now that she's 9? Bowling is LAME-O. Thankfully Logan's friend Adam from the team came with us for our "Family Activity"....you know because this wasn't about Logan practicing his bowling...it was about "Family Activity". Cough. Cough.

Adam came along and brought his iPhone so Maddie browsed the internet instead of bowling like the rest of us LAME-Os. I don't think I'm going to make it through her teenage years if bowling is already this unbearably lame at nine. We'll have to try something more exciting, like traveling the country to see 30 consecutive Hannah Montana shows. Or something even more fun, like freebasing. As a family.

Anyway I bring up the training session because Logan's still working at getting used to his new ball and sometimes it sticks to his thumb as he attempts to throw it down the lane. A few weeks ago he threw the ball and instead of throwing it down his own lane, it flew into the next lane. Which was pretty funny but I didn't get to see it with my own eyes.

Last weekend though he tried to take his turn but the ball didn't come off his thumb as per the usual procedure when bowling. His entire body was thrown down the lane with the ball. I watched my husband flying through the air being led by a bowling ball and he looked exactly what I think he'd look like if he was a giant rag doll. Or maybe a dog's chew toy.

Even if he broke his arm in that stunt, I still think I'd be typing this while furtively laughing every other minute thinking of my husband flying down a lane at the bowling alley with a bowling ball attached to his thumb. Thankfully he was not hurt so I can laugh openly.

In other bowling related news, a week ago I went along to watch the bowling team, The Split Hogs, if you must know. I took some pictures, most of them didn't come out very well but a couple did.

Like, say, this shot which is an illustration of a bowler being violated by a bowling pin. This is a regular  occurrence, much like the Superbad drawings (link NSFW, unless you work some where they don't care if you view drawings of Mr T as a penis on company time). Again, reminding me my husband fits right in with 13 year olds.

You get this drawing when you aren't doing well and I think it's reason I only bowl with bumpers. I don't want the pins doing that to me.

Fifteen & Twelve.

A couple of weeks ago we hosted a neighborhood happy hour. Let me just type that again because it feels so good.

A couple of weeks ago we hosted a neighborhood happy hour. Also I made this appetizer. They're tiny BLT's made in hollowed out cherry tomatoes with a little chipotle mayo on top (I used just ONE chili this time). Then a few days later we invited another couple over to hang out and I made these brussels sprout and bacon appetizers I'd made before.

You know how some people like to light candles to scent their house like a gingerbread cookie? Or they use a room deodorizing spray so their house can smell like an enormous vat of potpourri? When guests come to my house I prefer them to be punched in the face with the smell of bacon. So I made a decision, I will incorporate bacon into every event held in our house.

On Saturday we hosted a euchre tournament for 16 people Logan works with. We had four tables and every one had to play one round with each person. This meant we played, I think, 823 rounds of euchre. It was 2 o'clock in the morning (technically...because of daylight savings time) when I was finally able to get away.

When you host a euchre tournament you have every one bring an entry fee, ours was $7, this money goes into the pot and who ever gets the highest score goes home with some money, $112 in our case. Also every time you get "euchred" (for those of you from....not here, this basically means you did it wrong and you fucked up) you put another amount into a separate pot, our fee for getting euchred was $1.

By round 12 I had put about $600 into the euchre pot and I would have put more in if it meant I could make it stop. But it didn't stop, it went on and on and on. I didn't win any money, not even the euchred pot which was the product of my severe ineptitude at this never ending game.

But then, this story is all about how some things are good in small doses and very bad in larger ones.

In following with my new plan to make everyone smell like bacon after a night at my house, I decided to try these bacon wrapped cracker appetizers from Pioneer Woman Cooks. The house smelled as though I'd washed the floors in bacon grease, and the appetizers were exceedingly simple to make. Perfect.

I left them out on the counter and while I was emptying Maddie's savings account into the euchred pot, most of these really-terrible-for-you treats were devoured. I got my hands on one (before being called back over to empty our Roth IRA into the pot) and, I can't blame everyone for eating them all in about 4.2 seconds. They were amazing. I like to think that food doesn't have to be totally fat laden to be good. I'll tell myself, 'I don't even know it's not there.' But when I ate those crackers I realized what it is fat does. Fat makes things taste like heaven. So, no I don't blame everyone for eating all of the crackers that night, I can really only blame myself for not making a double batch.

Last night I made another batch and I didn't eat dinner because I knew these were really bad for me so I'd save my appetite for them. I sat down to eat my little snack and suddenly there were no more left and my stomach kind of hurt.  All day today I can't think about those bacon crackers without fighting back the urge to gag.

If you were wondering exactly how many rounds of euchre are too many, the answer is 15.
If you wondered what the precise amount of bacon which comprises "Too Many" is, the answer is 12.

You're welcome.

Did They Eat It? Chicken Corn and Black Bean Stoup Edition

My mom bought me this cookbook for Christmas. Do other people do this? I eat something really boring and unsatisfying but I read cookbooks while I do it and think of how good something really good would taste.

I don't quite get the rage Rachael Ray elicits, (seriously?) (Whoa.) I'll admit she's a little over saturated perhaps, see this 5ives list. But overall she cooks in a way I can cook, well at least close to the a way I could strive to cook. Simple, fast with not so many dishes to clean up.

I realize I haven't done very well with the Did They Eat It feature I promised months ago. But there's a good reason for that. I suck at cooking for my family! I want to be better, I truly do. But I just can't seem to create the ever elusive Meal Plan System I keep thinking will make me able to plan meals each week with little effort. Also I get bored making the same meals over and over. I start to feel like there's no point in cooking unless I'm trying something new. Trying something new each time I cook is annoying because I'm always the equivalent of a newborn in the kitchen.

Easter Basket Guide

I put together a lovely collection of things to put in your kid's Easter basket at Mighty Junior.

I think you'll like it. You should go look.

Up next, a baby basket guide. I won't mention candy, but you should put it in there so you can eat it all before they're able to protest.

None of these go together, I just felt like writing them down.

Games I inexplicably enjoy playing even though I suck at them.

Euchre
Corn Hole (yes, it's a thing.)
Scrabble
Bowling
Trivial Pursuit
Wii Tennis
Whirly Ball

Things that keep happening even though I don't want them to.

Snow days.
Snow storms.
Sinus Headaches.
Winter in general.

Entry from a friend's 9th grade diary that made me laugh.

Boyfriends:
Evan: 3 months
Scott*
Sam: 6 weeks
Matt: 1 day
Andrew*

*= Did not go out, just really like a lot.

Entry from my 9th grade journal which made me want to punch someone in the head.

I realized tonight at 8pm that I hadn't talked even once all day. Literally, I didn't speak at all for the entire day.

No teachers called on me. No one said hello to me. I didn't need to say excuse me to anyone. I didn't order lunch. Everything I did required no speech.

Now that I think about it, I don't usually talk all day. It's amazing how you can be surrounded by people and really have no need to ever talk.

Next page:

Holy Crap I Am Depressing.

Well if you like it.....

Max couldn't hear for at least a year, and it turns out he can't see either. I got a note home a few weeks ago saying he'd failed the school's vision screening. I thought it was a fluke, he can see how many fingers I'm holding up. He can beat me at Guitar Hero. Apparently, though, as I watched him read this line of letters "A M L Z P" as "E N I S D", he's just learned to compensate really well.

He picked a pair of glasses I can not stand. I hate them. I hate everything about them. They are blue, they're wire, he liked them because the label named some stupid Nickelodeon television show and even though I pointed out the label would be removed for actual wearing he didn't care.

I suspect he will decide he hates these glasses in about three weeks and will blame me for not stopping him from getting them. I think he will then attempt to needle me into buying him another pair of $150 glasses. I fear I will be needled because I really hate these glasses but didn't want to have a fight about something he should really have control over.

It reminds me of the time I wore a blue and white gingham checked dress to school with a pair of red shoes a friend had given me as a hand me down. I was very excited about the outfit, my mother signed off with a bit of reluctance saying, "Well, if you like it that's all that matters!" I did like it, until I got on the bus and realized I was dressed up as Dorothy from the Wizard Of Oz. I carried my backpack with me all day that day trying to hide my shoes from view.

I was always angry my mother didn't just tell me "You're dressed like Dorothy, which is weird but if you like it go for it."

But now that I could be the one saying, "Maddie maybe you should put your hair in a barrette or hair band, or I don't know brush it a little more." Or "Max, those glasses are sort of lame and I think you won't like them in a week."

I find myself unable to, even though I swear to God one day Maddie is going to say to me, "Why didn't you make me do something with my hair!? I looked like an orphan!" And one day, in a couple of weeks Max is going to say to me, "I hate these glasses and I don't want to wear them. Why didn't you tell me to get different ones?"

And I will feel more like a mother than I ever thought possible.