So far, I’ve made:
-homemade chicken nuggets
-spaghetti
-meatballs
-hamburger patties for the freezer
-browned ground beef for the freezer
-muffins
-potato soup
-avocado bread

And because I don’t feel like talking about the pancreatitis/gallbladder/stress level thing anymore, I am here to share with you how to make avocado bread.

Now, this is one of those recipes that’s so ridiculously simple I feel almost embarrassed sharing it, but the truth is, it’s food that never occurred to me until someone shared it with me and it’s SO GOOD and SO SIMPLE that you need to know how to do it. Also, I made this after I had already gotten the potato soup started but didn’t want leftover spaghetti for lunch.

Ingredients:
Yummy crusty bread
Avocado
Lemon juice
Sea salt
Parmesan cheese
Olive oil (not pictured because I forgot)

Directions:

Slice bread into inch thick slices and drizzle with olive oil.

Curse your avocado slicing skills.

Place slightly mangled avocado slices on top on bread.

Sprinkle parmesan cheese, lemon juice, and sea salt on top of avocado.

Now, you have a choice. Either a) stick bread into toaster oven and toast on “light,” or b) stick bread into oven on 350 degrees for about 6 minutes. Regardless, put bread into some sort of toasting appliance and do not remove it until bread is crunchy to your taste on the edges.

Place tasty toasted bread on plate and OM NOM NOM.

Now, let’s see, I might go make some peanut rice krispy treats. Or maybe homemade pizza…

Your first day on Earth, I was terrified. I was in charge of something ALIVE that couldn’t take care of itself at all.

You got bigger, a little at a time.

And one day, all of a sudden, you were a little person – not a lump.

And from the start, you danced.

And danced

And danced

and danced some more

You’ve ridden dogsleds

made it through a car wreck with a tractor trailer without a scratch – and without even dropping your cookie

lived by the beach

picked pumpkins

got stitches, and a “Han Solo” scar

slept on TOP of your dresser

lived with your parents’ terrible influence

wobbled through your first ski lesson

met a mermaid

and blown out candles SIX TIMES

I don’t know what’s next – maybe you’ll fly a plane, or build a rocket, or simply watch all the episodes in existence of Phineas and Ferb, but know that we’ll be here to cheer you on.

You big doofus.

In other news, my father has had to rather abruptly retire, which is going to lead to some interesting adjustment pains, I’m sure. He’s been “on leave” from doctoring for a month (more, possibly, they didn’t tell us what was going on right away), due to having some odd spells of confusion – which isn’t a good thing when you are in charge of other people’s lives. After a host of random tests that included fun things like a lumbar puncture, they have determined that he’s got an early form of dementia. Which sucks, honestly.

They’re getting here this week to celebrate the Dark Lord’s sixth (SIX OMG) birthday. I’m tempted to buy Daddy a whole pile of crossword puzzles and Sudoku.

-If given a choice between reading classic literature or reading ridiculous young adult novels, the young adult novel wins every time.

-I once called a 4 year old student an evil little troll child. This was after he kicked me for the millionth time and I’d spent the past 4 hours wrestling with another child who wanted to scratch my face off. I don’t feel guilty for this at all.

-Wall-E depresses me, and I cried the first time I saw it when I saw all the babies in their lonely little float cribs.

-I have a list of sensory issues a mile long. This list includes Food I Will Not Eat, Clothes I Will Not Wear, and Ways I Will Hurt People Who Tickle Me.

-I continue to teach, even though it continues to try and destroy my soul.

It’s the last one, really, that keeps getting me. Last year, I was not asked back, because I “wasn’t a good fit,” for the school. Which I can buy, because I pretty much hated the school and was bored bored BORED by my class.

I got the job I have now at the last minute, cancelled travel plans that had been made for months, and then promptly got called on the carpet and had my job threatened, so I wasn’t expecting much out of this year.

But, it turned out ok. While the principal never spoke to me and I never got even a tour of the school – so there are still whole areas of the school I’ve never been – nobody told me how to do my job, came in to criticize how I was following the curriculum (by which I mean, no one came into count how many kinds of manipulatives or types of books I had out). And I really like my kids, and the support staff are awesome.

So, to find out, a week after the required date of notification, by which I had already missed the school district’s hiring fair, that, while I wasn’t being not invited back, there would be no position for me to return to as my classroom was being closed, was a shock.

I was initially upset, but I came back the next day laughing.

I don’t know why or how, but I’m not crying and panicking over it.

It happened, it sucks, I just bought a bunch of new classroom stuff out of pocket, which REALLY sucks. But I’m ok.

And I’m applying, again, to more teaching jobs. Where principals will hate me or ignore me, where paras might or might not understand my directions, where parents will jump to conclusions, and we’ll run out of paper, and the kids will glue their fingers together, or cut their friend’s hair with scissors that are supposed to only be able to cut paper.

Better hold on tight – there’s no telling what will happen next.

But while we were there, and right before we were leaving, a strange thing happened.

Now, we’re no strangers to walking up to random people and making odd requests, but this one left Brandus and I both feeling…weird.

Voldemort was running in circles, and I was heading for the path home, when a man came up to me – older, smiley, average looking – and asked to borrow the kid.

Which isn’t the weirdest thing we’ve ever heard, so I just waited, and he explained – he had locked his keys in his truck, but the back window (the one over the bed) was open, and would we mind if he borrowed Voldemort to see if the kid could fit in the window and crawl in and get the keys. And in return, he would let Voldemort get something out of his “grab box” in the back of the truck.

Brandus and I looked at each other.

With both of us there, there wasn’t really any reason to say no, and it wasn’t like we wouldn’t be RIGHT THERE.

So, we shoved kiddo through the back window, and he grabbed the keys, handed them to the guy, and the guy popped open the door.

And kid got a matchbox car and some kind of Power Rangers toy from McDonalds, and later, a focused discussion as to why he would never ever do something like that without me or Brandus RIGHT THERE to say it was ok.

…Partially because he’s bouncing off the walls now that he’s better and outside doesn’t have walls, but it’s still currently too cold and there is too much snow for me to want to challenge his just recovered immune system with spending too much time outside.

But I want it. I want Spring and outside and green.

I want to plant daffodils and I want to poke around in my little raised garden and I want it to be WARM.

And I want grass.

No, not weed – grass. A lawn.

We’ve lived in our house for just over a year, and we still have nothing that is lawn-like. The grass was all dead when we moved in, and even though we’ve received strongly worded scolding letters from our HOA*, we have yet to do a darn thing to fix it. Partially because when we moved in, it was winter, and then in spring when we called and talked to places that help raise the dead, they said it was too late for seed and we’d have to buy sod and omg do you know how expensive that shit is?

So, our lawn remains as little more than dirt and some scraggly looking dandelions.

But at this point, I’ll even take the dandelions. At least they’re green and alive.

*Other strongly worded letters from the HOA have included our inability to put our trash cans inside the garage instead of the neatly garbage-can-shaped indent BESIDE the garage where it makes sense to put it, the fact we have a nearly dead plant in our yard, and the fact we should be shoveling the walkway no one walks on.

Clearly, all men like meat and build fires.

Which is ridiculous, because in my house, I’m the carnivore and the fire addict.

My problems with pinterest and stupid gender crap are getting more extreme, where I can no longer hold myself back and find myself leaving brightly phrased comments that I try to make sound non-sarcastic. Which is more difficult than you could possibly believe.

I have a particular problem with any pin that says anything stupid like: All girls need to read this! Every woman should pin this! Best books for boys!

I find myself having to step away and take deep breaths so I don’t lay out an entire feminist diatribe against the stupidity of this shit. But I can’t always resist. Which is why I have a board entitled Feminist, and another entitled Fuck Off, and sometimes THEY OVERLAP.

So stop talking crap about what “all girls” should do, or what “all boys” are like, and for fuck’s sake, STOP PISSING ME OFF WITH IT.

I grabbed one of my Lush bath bombs with no more than a cursory sniff to make sure it wasn’t objectionable.

I honestly thought I had grabbed a Honey Bee bath bomb. I keep each one individually wrapped, to try and protect the scent somewhat, so I didn’t even take it out before hand.

I ran the bath, turned on the battery operated candles (I know, but I can never find the freaking matches when I want them), and dumped the bath bomb in.

Which promptly went WHOOOSH and I thought, “Huh. That’s not Honey Bee.”

But I was tired and didn’t want to turn the lights back on and who cares, a bath is a bath.

I didn’t even turn on the lights when I was done – I had already brushed my teeth, so I just drained the bath and went to bed.

The next morning, when I went to get ready for the day, I realized the full extent of the carnage.

The entire bathtub was full of purple glitter. It looked like I had battled and won a fight against a Twilight-esque vampire.

Definitely not a Honey Bee.

“And why not?” he asked, which was a totally fair question.

“Don’t wanna.” And I flounced downstairs to call in for a mental health day. I spent the next few minutes eagerly thinking of the napping I could do and the tv I could watch that I never get a chance to.

And then the child came downstairs, fell apart over absolutely nothing, and when I hugged him to soothe his fragile five year old soul, I felt his forehead.

Oh. THAT was why I wasn’t going to go to school. BECAUSE I’M PSYCHIC.

Needless to say, I never got that nap and the tv was tuned to ridiculous things like Sophia the First and Gravity Falls.

One day out, no big deal, but when his fever hadn’t gone down by 4 and he had spent the entire day laying on the couch, not even jumping around or whining, I decided to keep him home on Thursday, too.

Two days out, ok, sure, it happens. His fever was lower and he was more entergetic, but was still hanging out at 99 degrees and just didn’t look right to me. I figured he’d been good to go on Friday, and I shared that feeling with the husband. Although I also said I wasn’t entirely comfortable sending him Friday. I just..wasn’t.

Brandus rolled his eyes and said, “He’ll be FINE,” and I figured he was right, so I put my unease to the side and went to bed.

Friday, I got up, got dressed, got a cranky sounding good morning grunt from the husband, and then took Voldemort’s temperature. Which was 100.4.

Brandus scoffed. Brandus rolled his eyes. Brandus told me I was being ridiculous and Voldemort would be FINE and he barely had a fever and GEEZUS SERIOUSLY YOU’RE STAYING HOME WITH HIM AGAIN GOD.

I find it a sign of my own personal maturity that at no point did I videotape myself doing the TOLD YOU SO song and dance and emailing it to him after the doctor told me that Voldemort had an upper respiratory infection topped with a double dose of conjunctivitis.

It was quite the party.

Brandus is a total rock star, and I’m fairly certain I told him I’d give him my first born, which made him snort and Voldemort yell “NOOO” and try and burrow into my blanket fort with me to attach himself like a barnacle to my side. That lasted all of five seconds before he was trying to steal all of my covers to make himself a ghost.

So, 2013. Here we are.

2012, when I think about it, didn’t fit well into the “awesome” category. Honestly, it pretty much sucked. I got fired, which was a first. I started a new job – again. I thought I was doing great – again. And then I get called on the carpet during the first week and am bawled out about something that came completely out of left field – AGAIN! I started having actual panic attacks, which is FABULOUS, let me tell you. Both Brandus and Voldemort made a trip to the E.R. And the topping on the cake was the death of my mother in law.

Fuck you, 2012.

But you, 2013, I feel good things from you. I’m getting a new niece or nephew. I’m going back to get my Masters (unwillingly, but that’s irrelevant). I’m starting to write again.

You and me, 2013. We’re going to get along just fine. I’m going to ignore the fact that Voldemort needs significant dental work (HE’S NOT EVEN FIVE. HE BRUSHES TWICE A DAY. WHAT THE HELL.) and I spent the second night of 2013 dealing with significant insomnia because I kept running over and over and over what my mother would say about his teeth – all of which end up with her laying the blame neatly at my feet, much as she did when he was just born and wasn’t gaining weight and she decided it was because I wasn’t dressing him warmly enough and he was using up all of his energy keeping warm NOT THAT I STILL THINK ABOUT THAT OR ANYTHING – and generally feeling like a terrible mother. So I went downstairs and stuffed my head so full of words and words and words of stories that I drowned out my own Anxiety Disorder influenced words of blame and hate and horribleness and I ended up getting two hours of sleep but NONE OF THAT IS IMPORTANT.

What is important is that 2013 and I are going to get along just fine. I won’t get fired. I will handle the panic attacks by remembering that my xanax is in my purse for a reason. I will support the Brandus as much as I can. I’ll try and remember awesome days like today with my kid, where he’s happy and helpful and interested in everything. I’ll drink more water, sing more songs, dance with my students, clean the kitchen, bake a cake.

Welcome to my world, 2013. Let’s rock this year.