I have turned into a person who fondants. It is, for real, one of the most fun evening activities ever, especially if you make a friend or your mom do it with you and drink copious amounts of pinot grigio while mushing icing into the shape of spiders.
I am aware that this looks impossible. Trust me, I have in the past found it to be so. Except at this point I have tried it a couple of times, and oh:
Possible.
The other day I was at Children's Storytime at the library, and I ran into my friend Brianna, who was there with her niece (who happens to be Goldie's BFF). I mentioned that we were throwing Indy a "spooky party" for his fifth birthday, and she said "OH. You have to make worms!"
Apparently there is a recipe all over the Internet that explains how one can pour raspberry Jell-O into bendy straws, and somehow end up with worms.
WORMS.
Get off my fancy new bed, Virgil.
Kendrick is freezing.
This makes no sense, because our house is not, but apparently our internal thermostats are set to Opposite. All I want is a nice, gentle gust of fresh air, but it turns out that what I think of as "a refreshing cross-breeze" translates to "arctic blast" in Kendrick-speak. In the summer, what this means is that I sleep with no covers and six fans pointed in my direction while he huddles under the coverlet to guard against the 80-degree evening chill. In the winter, we are at an impasse. Because fiiiiine, I'll close the windows and shut down the whole spectacularly lovely, breezy situation that our bedroom has the potential to enjoy, but even with the windows closed and a comforter on our bed, I routinely wake up to discover that my husband has pulled two or three extra blankets out of the linen closet and is ensconced underneath them as if he's preparing for a new Ice Age.
Look. At that. Living room.
My friend Audrey has excellent taste; I knew that already because I follow her on Instagram. But because we've mostly been online friends these past four years and have actually only met in person twice, so I've never been to her house.
OH.
I try to think about things like planning out perfectly balanced meals...
(but I’d much rather smooch this one).
I am not exactly the healthiest eater on the planet - I think we’ve established this by now. It’s not that I eat (or even want to eat) tons of junk; it’s more that I tend to be an “eat what’s there” kind of person, even if “what’s there” is “whatever my children left on their plates.” You know my ginger shots? Those are not happening lately. Given our schedules at the moment, the mincing and straining of ginger does not sound like a fun way to spend my three free seconds.
