the kids are allright

I was cleaning out some clutter in my bedroom the other day, and I found this:

But wait, can you tell that it's currogated cardboard? And we need a reference point for scale, look:

Could you just die at this? It is my new favorite thing. I wish I could remember the circumstances under which it was received, or crawl inside my almost 17 year old boy's formerly little head for a glimpse of the idea formation, the execution, the delivery.

It's too awesome. I can't cope. 

Today's communication is more like: 

And as for his sister? It's more like:

and

and

I kind of like these people.

F-bomb wisdom

WARNING: This post is full of profanity. Read at your own risk.

Amen!

For those of us with teenagers

No words.

For those of us at work.

 For those of us with younger kids:

Feel free to add your own.

Hunkering

So they told us there would be snow.

They did! And they were right.

We got snow.

A little tiny bit of snow.

But that did not stop us from doing what we, as good New Englanders, do. We planned for a lot of snow.

And we hunkered down.

You know what that means, right? When it snows, you stay home and eat and drink to excess.

It's an excellent tradition, one we wholeheartedly embrace.

We started with luncheon on Saturday.

Cold cuts?

Oh, I think so.

And yes, Mistah would like another piece of Swiss, thankyouverymulch.

Me?  I went for the turkey-and-avocado wrap . . .

. . . why yes, I'd love some jalapeno . . . 

. . . and spinach? That would be divine.

Look how proud Schleckie is of his sand -- nay -- MAN-wich . . .

. . . and with good reason.

His luncheon . . .

. . . my luncheon . . .

. . . a snow storm . . .

. . . and UConn beating its old rival Georgetown?

Perfection.

At least we thought so, until our one-tenth-of-a-mile-away-neighborfriends showed us what they were eating:

Pulled pork nachos.

Oh really? So this is how it's gonna be?

Game on, Rachel and Michelle.

We've got mushrooms . . .

. . . and gahlic . . .

. . . and assorted cheesy delight . . .

. . . and one mad, devoted Mistah in the kitchen . . .

. . . and voila. . .

We've got Mistah's pasta / shroom / scallop / mushroom / rabe extravaganza.

Winning.

Until . . .

Rachel and Michelle's post-shoveling breakfast on Sunday morning.

Complete with.

Sigh.

Not to be outdone, though, we fearlessly hit the cold cuts again. And retired to the deck . . .

. . . the deck! On January 24th!

. . . complete with.

But then . . .

That's right: Rachel and Michelle countered with Sunday's edition of pulled pork nachos.

We realized we were fighting a losing battle and there was only one thing to do . . .

. . . walk a tenth of a mile and join our compatriots . . .

. . . and Hunker Down, neighborfriend-style.

fortunate

This is a story about a really funny lunch I had one time, with my family.

We all happened to be together on this particular Monday in October, just hanging out. We had thought about and valiantly tried to get ourselves into The City for soup dumplings in chinatown, but we had no choice but to abort that mission when faced with the dreary inevitability of our (my) unrealistic expectations.

Our matriarch's levity could not WOULD not be dampened by the change in plans, and I suspect that she and the vast majority of my family members were relieved to end our time together with an effort that was less herculean. Mom figured if we couldn't get to chinatown, we'd simply go to China.

If you google "Best chinese food in Norwalk" then filter to highlight those who serve booze* and are open and can take a party of 10 right now, you will find yourself at none other than the Village Gourmet, baby.

*they do not in fact serve booze, but you can bring booze! Ellie brought an oscar chock full! Winning!

So anyway, there we were.

I share the following photos to show you part of the scene, sure. But mostly because of Clara's face. And my mom; look how utterly gorgeous she is!

While the canned pineapple on a toothpick was a delightful and much appreciated confection for this special day, we also received obligatory fortune cookies. 

I love fortune cookies. One time I went to a fortune cookie factory in San Francisco's chinatown. Did I ever tell you about that? Please hold. 

I guess I didn't. But I feel like I did. Sigh. 

Anyway, I often take my kids to dinner at the Japanese joint down the street where the sushi is fresh and cheap and the service is sometimes great. We always used to get fortune cookies with our bill and I would take a photo and post it to facebook with the caption 'fortunate'. 

One day they brought the bill with a handful of lame hard candies, and we cried and the tradition died. Now the candies are in a bowl by the cash register and the bill is just paper. Sucks. 

But I digress! I do love fortune cookies, so imagine my chagrin that day at the Village Gourmet when the delicicies were passed around and there were none left for me! I had, of course, made everyone read their fortunes as they opened them, waiting patiently for my turn in the spotlight. Then when the tray came back around to me, it was empty. Meanwhile, my brand new brother in law was parked right next to me, munching happily with a little pile of hoarded fortunes at his place. 

The noive.

His fortune  - well his or rightfully mine, we'll never know - read: "you have a heart of gold"

I disagreed. 

And what can I say? When in Rome:

fortunate.