War for Breakfast

I am about to change all of your lives for the better. Unless you’re: A. Not in super love with Chai Tea Lattes I don’t know why you wouldn’t be…but whatever. I realize some people out there are ambivalent about guacamole. The existence of such people only make it so there’s more guacamole for the rest of us, though…so I try not to judge too harshly about their lack of ability to appreciate the pure joy of angel tears raining down on you like unadulterated bliss descending from the heavens. Seriously, those people need help. They live empty lives. Empty. Lives. B. Not LDS/Mormon so you don’t give a crap…

Those of you who know me have probably wondered why my husband chose to take his life. I have debated whether or not to share this story…because it’s intensely private and intimate. I want to be respectful to him. Just because he killed himself and had these problems doesn’t mean he wasn’t an exceptional man. He was good, loving, and carried so much brightness. I enjoyed him immensely! I also fear your reactions. He told only a handful of people about his addiction and it resulted in some extreme ugliness. He lost a dear friend over this. That makes me gun-shy. I also don’t want to ruin memories or make…

This gruesome tile is on the ceiling above the exam table in our pediatrician’s office. I think they put it there as a warning so children behave. For reals, though….who says to themselves “I must paint a calming scene on a 14″x14” tile so the children may be relaxed and cooperative throughout their pediatric appointment.” ….And then paints Satan as a patriotic cross-dressing angel of death presiding over a field of sheep he just murdered, (for the talent portion of the “Promised Land” beauty pageant), by pulling out their hearts and putting them in a basket?!? And, FYI? It looks like HE WON THE PAGEANT!! What the hell is wrong…

This is E. He and The Man were close. They had this play fight for years where E would pester The Man about his Sunday attire. “No! Get church pants!” For example, he would come into the library (we were the church librarians), look at The Man’s shoes, (usually brown hiking boots or tennis shoes), and make this grumbling sound, then yell at him for not having Sunday shoes. They would banter for a while and then The Man would give E some candy. Even on Fast Sunday (when Mormons don’t eat for 24 hours and donate the money they saved to feed the poor). E would panic if he…

You know those mornings that just don’t go well? I am having that morning. I lost the battle with my breakfast…aka…I burned my breakfast – bell peppers, mushrooms, cilantro, tomato, breakfast sausage in an egg wash…because it ended up being a ton of veggies and we only had two eggs….but I didn’t have time to make anything else, even toast, so I plopped it in a container, grabbed a fork, and left. You know how the FDA put out that warning about charred food giving you cancer? My breakfast tastes like cancer. I’m eating it anyway. (Iva, my heart medicine, needs protein or she doesn’t work. Saucy minx!) Couldn’t find…

You guys wanna hear some crazy stuff that makes me hate this whole Health Insurance Marketplace thing even MORE than I already did? Well then sit down children. I’m gonna tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a Genteel Widow and her Loin Fruit. They applied for insurance through the HIMP/Obamacare. They received coverage. In January. They sent in all the papers (it was A LOT of papers!) and their income was verified. Everything was a bright gloriosity and there was guacamole flowing from the faucets and everything you’d need to be in some sort of fabulous wonderment. In January. There were even confirmation letters and official…

Me, after walking past The Kid’s bathroom and seeing an avalanche of clothes, towels, and detritus, “Kid? It would sure be nice if your bathroom didn’t look like a battle zone. “And also if it were accessible.” I take a second look, “To people. Without ice axes and pulley systems that not everyone has handy all the time…” The Kid, eager to set my delicate mind at ease and being an amazing problem solver, closes the door and says to me, “Schrödinger’s bathroom, mom.” Me, marveling at her genius, “So what you’re saying is… your bathroom is both clean… and a war zone… at the same time?” The Kid, who…

I was raised in a theater of war. The kind of conflict induced by the typical struggles of siblings trying to carve out their territory and claim their freedom. The most memorable battles were a seamless mix of psychological warfare and hand to hand combat. Before I share the brilliant bit of strategy from which this blog takes its name, let me introduce the warring factions: Me The little sister, 5th in a line going 6 kids deep. Having 4 brothers, I was forced by my survival instinct to become a tomboy. I was annoying and hungry for attention. The little sister you caught spying on you when you were…

*This event takes place several years ago, as many of my stories do.* This morning, as I was getting ready for work, The Man assembled The Kid’s lunch. I would say he “made” her lunch, but as you will see, there was really no “making” going on. This was The Man’s first attempt at lunchtime nutrition for The Kid. When I make her lunch she is limited to 1 treat per lunch. I always include some sort of main dish, usually a bagel, or a sandwich with The Kid’s must-have ingredients of spinach and onions. If a sandwich lacks the crucial ingredients of spinach and onions, she can’t even get…