…but I think designating a national day on our calendar for selfies is as redundant as White History Month.
My Nonsensical Thought of the Day
The truth is in the trail mix.
When you find that special someone who lets you eat all the chocolate out of the trail mix and leave the rest behind, you know you have a keeper. Just thinking about it brings a lump to my throat.
Then again, maybe that’s just the raisins and dried cranberries.
This will never, ever happen again.
There are certain things in this universe that are a rarity: planetary alignment, Halley’s Comet, a total solar eclipse. Tonight, for the first time in my parenting existence marks a rare and astronomical event of my own: all three children invited to sleepovers on the same night.
As I sprinkled a shrimp flake into our Betta bowl, it occurred to me that Bob the Fish is the single only creature whose existence depends on me right at this moment in time.
I think I even heard him chewing.
Make it Quik
Everyone has memories of that one special family dinner that only Mom (or Dad, or Grandma, or whoever had the culinary expertise) could perfect. In my family, it was my grandma’s Hungarian chicken paprikash with nokedli (followed closely by her stuffed peppers and homemade chicken dumpling soup). Sure, my dad passed along her recipes to me, and I follow them to the T—but sadly, close as they may come, that special something Grandma captured in her dishes was lost with her 25 years ago.
Last night for Anna’s birthday sleepover, I handed her and her friend, Jake, our ritual bedtime nightcap—a big, bubbly glass of chocolate milk. Jake gulped it down heartily and declared, “This is good!”
“My mom makes the best chocolate milk,” Anna boasted. “After you try it, you’re going to want to come over for a thousand sleepovers!”
And with that, I decided, I’m taking the recipe to my grave.
If any of you lets the cat out of the bag, the Quik bunny gets it.