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Browsing Tag: eating

I’m Still Mad About the Cadbury Eggs, Though

The evidence was everywhere, carnage of a sugar rush gone mad, access to all the vices in life consumed at once. It was like Eve not only biting into the apple, but running around Eden with it on the sly, scattering bits and pieces, leaving teeth marks in all the good apples somebody else could have eaten (AHEM), tucking the fruit into hiding spaces so she could go back and get some more, later, when Adam and God weren’t looking. Except this was no Eve. This was Cian, after Easter. And Cian, unlike his sisters, could give Eve a run for her money. The foil started appearing everywhere, starting the day after Easter Sunday. Little crumpled bits of pink in the couch. A flattened wedge of pastel blue on the playroom table. There was a half-eaten milk chocolate egg, wrapper still partly intact, on the floor behind a chair leg. I noticed a smear of something dark on a couch, swabbed at it with a wet cloth, wondered which child had forgotten to wash her hands after playing outside. Then, I noticed the teeth marks in a chocolate bunny, then another. The smudge of brown on Cian…

That’s Just the Stomach Virus Talking

David picked up sushi for dinner the other night. It was Sunday, and the end of a particularly grumpy weekend. Most of the house was sick, with Cian and I warily eyeing everybody else, telepathically trying to ward off the germs, wondering if quarantine in a nearby hotel (with a pool, and a spa, and babysitting services) should be in order. David slept more in one day than I think he’s slept in the last five years. I was scrubbing preschooler barf out of our bedroom carpet. The washing machine wept from overuse.  You get the idea. And since nobody was cooking, we brought food in. Because what else does a person crave after he comes out the other side (BWAHAHA) of a stomach bug? Why, raw fish, of course! You may have your Sunday roasts, with carrots and potatoes in the slow cooker, or you–yeah,  you over there–were contentedly standing over your grill that evening, flipping burgers with one hand while drinking some cold beer from a can with the other. But we? Over in the “vintage” split-level across the street from the new subdivision? We’re bringing home…

Ah, Yes

Happy Independence Day, everyone.  Waking up today (at 8:30!  How did that happen?  More importantly, how did our children let that happen?), I was thinking about my summer break between my first and second year of college, when I was working in the misses department of our local JCPenney.  What a mind-numbingly awful job.  I still distinctly remember closing up the store after hours at night and having to walk past all those creepy mannequins lining the dark aisle.  Brrr.  I still get the heeby-jeebies thinking about it. But back to what I was saying.  I remember that summer particularly because I woke up early on July 4.  I woke up cursing the sun, the bright sky, and all the evils of the time card, let me tell you.  I had to put on some tanned-colored pantyhose, my professional-yet-comfortable heels and work that golly awful job.  It was my first real taste of the bitterness of adult responsibility.  Granted, that job was paying for my books for fall semester, but that July 4th all I was concerned about was declaring my independence from price tags and returns without receipts. That was a long time…