If you’ve been following along on IG, none of this will be news to you. But I want to post a recap of our Round 1 Symbolic Ritual Cannibalism Playoff Dinners, and explain why it worked.
Visible in the photo set I did for my 49th birthday is a small tattoo over my right hipbone. It isn’t new, I got it about 15 years ago. My decision to let it be visible in my photos, however, is new. So for anyone who might want to hear a story, here is the one about that tattoo and why you’ll be seeing it from now on.
In pursuit of my wild dream of feeling like a full-fledged adult maybe sometime before my 50th birthday, I’ve been purchasing tools to help me do adult things like plan meals more than 20 minutes in advance of eating them. Like this nifty fridge magnet. Some weeks, it looks like this
but then there are other better weeks when I plan 7 entire meals with lots of veggies and then actually cook them all and feel terrifyingly mature and know it can’t possibly be sustainable but I try to enjoy the moment.
Adulthood is an adventure in self-discovery. You never think you’ll be the sort of person who gets excited about toilet paper. However, I sit before you today genuinely excited about my new toilet paper, to the point of writing an entire blog post about it. With a picture, even.
It hasn’t actually been 3 months since our last Bob’s Burgers night. I just never told you about the Hatch Me If You Can burger. Or The Cauliflower’s Cumin From Inside the House and OMG It’s Fischoeder. And that is not at all because I don’t like you and don’t feel you deserve to know about these things. It’s because… life. Life has been considerably more lifelike since this little man became a part of it.
The other day when my mom came to pick me up for our weekly Costco excursion, she said “your father got this when he bought some stuff for his drill, he thought you might be able to use it” as she reached into her purse. In the 4 seconds between those words leaving her mouth and the reveal of what “this” was, I had ample time to wonder a) what might be included with power tool accessories that I would use more than my dad would, and b) what possible power tool thing would fit in my mom’s purse.
I’d be lying if I said I know where the month of June went. I have vague recollections of a few things. My dogs both had dental work done. My husband went on his annual two-week writing retreat. Nobody died, and at some point I must have done laundry. Other than that, your guess is really as good as mine as to what happened during that 30 day span of my life.
I did not get a photo of the cooktop catching fire as it was happening because, you know, fire.
Instead, I very calmly reached into the baking cabinet, took out a sheetpan large enough to cover the flaming surface, slapped it down, turned on the hood fan, opened the kitchen window, and reflected briefly on how little energy I had to react to something like the sudden appearance of an open blaze in my kitchen and how it wasn’t even the worst or most surprising thing that happened that day.
