Positivity Post – Caring from the Inside Out

I have always loved to bake. More importantly, I love to bake for others. In my early adulthood, I was a member of the dorm staff of more than one boarding high school, and my living quarters were accessed from the dormitory floor.

Back then, when I baked treats, students were well aware as the scent of baking cookies [muffins, cupcakes, etc.] wafted through my door and out onto the hall. They knew that when study hours were over, there would be freshly baked snacks. This was one of the ways that I let my students know I cared.

Nowadays, I am still committed to baking for others—for my family, my students, my coworkers, my children’s friends/parties/bake sales, etc. And every now and then, I have this strange urge to combine unusual ingredients. Last week, I had an avocado that needed to be used up, and I considered using it to make muffins.

A quick Google search, and I found Gimme some Oven, where I scored this recipe for blueberry avocado muffins, a healthy and amazingly delicious alternative to the traditional blueberry muffins. Because these muffins are both healthy and tasty, I will definitely be making them again! This is one of the ways I let my family know I care.

Positivity Post – Humor in the Little Things

I often find that humor blossoms from the littlest things. Yesterday, for example, my daughter set out to eat a chocolate chip muffin. Because I know she is not a sweet-eater, I offered to split it with her, but she turned me down. The muffin wasn’t that big, and she was hungry. It wasn’t long before I was given the phenomenal opportunity to finish the muffin. I turned and looked at what was being offered to me.

Hmmm… a small piece of muffin with chips extracted. No thank you… In the end, I ate the muffin and left the stray chips on the napkin.

Today, I went to Walmart to get a new bathroom scale since ours stopped working a couple weeks ago. I don’t weigh myself very often, but my children weigh themselves regularly—and by regularly, I mean between once a month and once a week.

When I pulled up to my house, I had a bathroom scale and a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts, both purchased at Walmart. The donuts were being sold from a card table outside the front door of the store. How could I turn them down? Donuts that raise money for Scouts? That’s a total win, and I’m in! As I walked in the door with my purchases, I definitely found the humor in this combination.

Where did you find humor today?

Fridge Lock

It is interesting how conversations progress in my house, and how quickly things change.

A week ago, my son came home from college and in all honestly, he might not have eaten the entire time he was there. On one of his first days home, he was eating a container of apricot yogurt. I didn’t know he liked apricot yogurt, and there were other flavors in the fridge I thought he did like. So I mentioned to him that I had purchased the apricot for his brother.

At first, he stared at me as though I had somehow insulted him. Deeply. And then he marched to the fridge, threw open the doors, and said, “Tell me which food in here is mine, Mom. What has my name on it?” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating the contents of the fridge. “Can you tell me? Because I see none.” He turned and looked directly at me, taunting me, daring me to answer him. I stared back. Then I smiled and shrugged, but I did not answer.

Fast forward to today. I purchased bagels earlier in the week at his urging, but today he complained, “There are no bagels left. I only ate one of them, and the rest disappeared.” He was disappointed. Somehow, he had forgotten that food tends to disappear in a house with three hungry teenagers. And my house doesn’t have the seemingly endless supply of food that he enjoyed in his college dining hall.

“We should put a lock on the fridge,” he proposed, apparently backing off on his open-refrigerator policy of just a few short days ago.

“And that would mean that only I would have access to the food,” I countered, suddenly recognizing what a great idea this might be to have complete control of the food.

“No… I would have access, too,” he told me. “I know about fridges. I majored in culinary in high school.”

I laughed. “Interesting thought, but that might cause more problems.” I imagined one of his siblings trying unsuccessfully to get into the fridge—even for a glass of water, and I shuddered.

Yes, the conversations change quickly around here. This afternoon, as I left the grocery store with a full cart, I said to my boyfriend, “There. Now I won’t have to come back for at least two days!” It seems it might be a long summer of frequent food shopping. Maybe a lock is not such a bad idea.

Image credit: FreeImages.com / Griszka Niewiadomski

Grocery Fun

Grocery shopping is not my favorite chore of the week. In fact, it’s one of my least favorite chores. I can’t really say why other than the tediousness of navigating the crowds (since I have to shop on the weekend), the need to plan out a week’s worth of meals in advance, and the cost.

But in truth, I have a tendency to purchase similar items each week, relying on habit and luck to get me through. The only list I bring with me is the running list that lives on my refrigerator—the list where we write down the things that we need to purchase as we run out of that particular item. Between that list, the weekly “regular” items, and the items I pick up to create something edible for week night dinners, I am able to get through my grocery trip without wasting much time on planning.

Last weekend, W and I went to the grocery store on the way home from several other errands we had to do. It was dinnertime on Saturday, and I figured together, we could quickly conquer this weekly chore. We entered the store, acquired a cart, and we were off.

But the grocery list from the refrigerator was on a long, narrow sheet of paper, and it was only half filled. So I ripped off the bottom half (which was blank), and handed it to W. “Here,” I joked with him. “You get the items on this half of the list, and I’ll get the items on my half.”

He stared at the torn paper in his hand. Then, as I went off toward the produce, he veered the cart in the other direction. I slowed my pace, looked back, and he was looking around with a feigned look of slight puzzlement on his face.

Well, I don’t have time to fool around, I thought, and I continued on my normal grocery trajectory. I knew he wouldn’t be far behind. I picked up broccoli, tangerines, lettuce. Of course, I had no cart to put them in, so I was loading up my arms. I started to look at the green peppers, but I didn’t have two hands to manipulate the bag and check the peppers for firmness.

But then I spotted W, at the front end of the produce section. He was wandering around, still glancing at the ripped “list” in his hand as if there were something written there. We made eye contact, and I waved at him, motioning for him to come closer, and he did.

I dropped my produce into the cart. “I was needing a cart, and mine wandered away,” I commented.

“Well, I was trying to find the stuff on my list,” he turned his “list” to me, so I could see what he was in search of. On the piece of paper was a drawing of an array of fruit in the basket. “I thought it might be toward the other end of the store, but I couldn’t find it there, either.” He shrugged, the smirk on his face growing increasingly visible.

And how was I to respond to that? This crazy son of mine took a meaningless piece of paper and pretended to make meaning out of it. In the process, he took an ordinary shopping trip, and transformed it into something just a bit special.

Nuance

Last night after everyone had gone to bed, I found a note on my kitchen counter. This note was not written to me, however. It was a note written from one of the children in my house to another.

My daughter had come into the kitchen before bed to make her lunch, but then she realized she didn’t need a lunch. She had an appointment today, and we had arranged to stop and pick up some food on the way back to school. But she had forgotten… until she pulled out two sandwich bags into which she was going to pack lunch items.

Rather than place the bags back into the box, she left them on the counter for her brother. With a note, apparently, instructing him how to proceed.

But after her brother had come down to make his own lunch, the bags, and the note, remained on the counter. “Pack your lunch with these. They are not poisoned in any way,” she had written.

Huh…. If something wasn’t poisoned, why would you have to say it wasn’t? Wouldn’t that be the expectation?

Instead, I had to think the very thought that poisoning had crossed her mind might make her brother wonder at her true intent. It certainly made me wonder.

Poison or no, I think he was smart to leave the bags on the counter. (The note has been confiscated should it be needed for “evidence” at a later date).

{Written in response to today’s one-word prompt}

Skittles and Logic

I took my son to the orthodontist today, and when we emerged from the office, I was thinking about dinner. Mac and cheese—just in case the teeth were hurting—and … well that was where I was stuck.

“Do you want broccoli for dinner?” I asked. “Because the only option I have at home is zucchini, but we can stop and get some broccoli.”

I know he’s not a fan of zucchini, so I was not surprised when he said, “I’ll take broccoli,” even if it meant a stop at the market. But when we got to the checkout, he also took a Three Musketeers and a package of Skittles. He’d already been out biking after school, and I don’t buy him candy very often, so I bought them.

In the car, he opened the Skittles. I held out my hand expectantly, but he just looked at me, feigning ignorance. I raised my eyebrows, my silent gesture for, I-paid-for-those-I-can-take-them-away.

“What colors do you like?” he asked as he dumped a small pile into his hand.

“Red, orange, and yellow,” I answered, turning my eyes back to the road, but leaving my hand out. He plucked three Skittles from the pile and placed them in my hand. Two orange and a red. I ate them while we chatted about the day.

As we got closer to home, I held out my hand once more. Again, he placed three Skittles in my hand, this time, an orange, a red, and a yellow. We listened to the political discussion on the radio. He chewed away on his candy, but he didn’t offer me any more, and I didn’t ask.

We turned into our road, and he read the nutrition information on the package. “Whoa!” he exclaimed.

“What?” I asked.

“There’s one serving in this package, and it’s 250 calories!” He seemed momentarily surprised; then he hesitated while he considered the facts, a characteristic glint sparkled in his eye. “But… I shared them with you. That means I only had 125 calories!”

I opened my mouth to say something. Something about the six Skittles I had eaten to his all-the-rest. But I closed my mouth. I’d let him have his faulty logic. At least this time.

{Image credit: FreeImages.com / Ryan Vinson}

Car Snacks

fullsizeoutput_2ae5I recently renewed the registration for both of our cars. Since both cars are registered in my name, they both came due in my birth month. After I completed the registrations, they sat by my front door waiting to be moved to the cars.

A week or so ago, I finally went out and stuck the new stickers on my license plates and put the documentation in the cars, first my car and then the car my teens use. As I rooted around in the glove compartment for the little plastic sleeve that we have to hold the registration, I noticed two individually wrapped ring pops.

Back at the beginning of the summer when I was in the car for some reason, my son had shown me the various snacks he was keeping in the glove compartment—ring pops being one of them. Therefore, I was aware of the car food and not surprised to find the ring pops there. I was a bit concerned about their condition, but since they were unopened, I figured I would deal with them another day. I slipped the registration into the sleeve and shut the glove compartment.

Yesterday, my daughter had somewhere to be and it was snowing. She took the car that was better in the snow, and W and I took the smaller car on our errands. As we drove down the long road home, he decided to search the glove compartment, a hobby of his when he is in either one of our cars. Of course, he discovered the ring pops and decided he was going to help himself.

Keep in mind, we are several months from hot weather, and candy that has been in a hot car over the summer has likely seen better days. And W certainly found that out when he opened the first of the two pops.

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It was no longer its original shape, having melted several times over. The second wasn’t any different. While he did taste one before we threw them out, they were chewy and not what he was expecting.

Now I’m trying to come up with the best moral for this story. Perhaps it would be, Sometimes things don’t maintain their original form in a hot car. Or maybe, If you don’t throw out your car snacks before you go off to college, your little brother will do it for you.

Maybe we can just go with this one: Don’t store your candy in the glove compartment.