Midolescence

Midway on our life's journey
I found myself in the dark wood
The right road lost - The Inferno, Dante (trans. Robert Pinsky)

Last week, one of the women at my daughter's preschool brought up the idea of Midolescence, the new term for midlife crisis and, considering the hormonal changes, I think a more self-descriptive term. When she found out my age she grew concerned:

Preschool mom: Don't you just think about how your life is half over? Really. You've already lived half of your life. Doesn't that scare you?
Me: No. What scares me is thinking about my twenties. I'm lucky I survived my own stupidity.

Compounded Daily

Driving past Scottsdale on our way to Flagstaff I noticed an interesting new business and pointed it out to Roger.

Me: Child Mortage. That building says Child Mortage. Hmmm-
Roger: Hey, Carter. We have a new consequence for your bad behavior.
Me: Let the money just roll in.

Have It Your Way

Burger King. San Jose Airport.

I decided to order a quick lunch for my kids before we hopped on the plane for Phoenix. We queued up at the home of the you-know-what (but not for hamburgers my god they recalled 143 lbs of ground beef the day before are you crazy?!!). No. We went for the chicken nuggets and oh yes I know how they lived and died. It's The Omnivore's Dilemma all day every day. Carter managed to convince me to order the kid's meals which is not something we normally do.

Waitress: Do you want a boy toy or a girl toy?

Me: Excuse me?

Waitress: Boy toy or girl toy?

Me: I thought these were kid's meals.

Something you won't find on the menu at BK.

Brand New Key

Barack Obama skated here all the way from the beach just to see you.

Barack Obama has parsed your error.

Barack Obama relates to what you are saying.

Barack Obama warmed up your car for you.

Barack Obama made you a mix tape.

What will he do for you?

h/t Suburban Bliss

I Hate It When You Peer At Me So Intently

When I was a child I made an observation: People's faces distort in direct proportion to the amount of stress you are under. The more upset you are, the weirder, more disturbing people look. It's also a fact that when you're sobbing uncontrollably the only people who want to comfort you are the ones who look like they're extras from a David Lynch film. This thought returned on Tuesday night as I sat on a bench outside the restaurant holding Olivia while she screamed "I'm hungry! I want a highchair!" She had a meltdown when waitress gave her a booster seat instead.

Now I'm sure to Olivia her reasons for wanting a highchair are perfectly rational and most likely have to do with the fact that her little brother Marshall was given one and Olivia deep inside wants to be the baby too. But even though she's "four now and taller," she really isn't in a place where she can analyze her motives. "I'm HUNGRY! LET. ME. EAT! I want a highchair!"

Every person who came out of the restaurant looked the other way and moved quickly to their cars. Except for this old woman with craters for eyes who looked like she most likely lived in a gingerbread house. Oh yes. She wanted to help. She bent down and leaned in towards us until she was three inches from our faces, the hairspray from her tease-job wafting unappetizingly close to our noses. "What's your problem little Missy?" Her sunken eyes rolling in two different directions. I absolutely swear they did. Two different directions.

I'm sure our screams are being measured in space even now.

Weekend Obsessive

I had a hankering for brownies.
Carter doesn't like chocolate so he asked if I could make blondies instead.
Fair enough. I had seen a recipe that sounded good so I thought I'd try it.
It was a complete failure.
Too much like cake.
I like cake okay. But I wanted brownies. Or rather blondies.
So I made another batch.
Still too cake-like.
I ran out of eggs.
I bought more. I decided that I would get these to come out right no matter how many batches I had to make.
So.

I made another batch. Mixed them less. Put them in a bigger pan.

Not quite the taste-sensation I was hoping for.

Too dry.

I am sick of blondies.

Bring on the chocolate.

Cute and Healthful

Carter: Here Mom. Happy Valentine's Day.

(Hands me a heart-shaped box with Cutie written on it and three Hershey's Kisses inside.)

Me: Thank you, Carter. I love chocolate.

Carter: I hope it's dark chocolate. It's better for your cholesterol.

Happy Valentine's Day

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