The Late, the Sweet, and the Yucky

Didn’t make the deadline.  The baby shower was on Saturday and instead of presenting the mommy-to-be with a beautifully wrapped handknit blanket, I sat and knit it as she opened her gifts.  I had other gifts for her, so I didn’t feel terrible.

It’s almost 2/3 of the way there.  I feel better now that the pressure is off.  My knitting is supposed to relax me and bring me joy, and now it can.  It’ll be on its way to its new home soon enough.

During some of the time I could have been working on the blanket, I went to a Girls’ Night In with three friends.  One of the girls is a foodie and her only-recently-revealed-to-us blog shows that she’s got some mad skilz in the kitchen.  She brought her ingredients to our get-together and wowed us with her flaming bananas.  Bananas Foster!  From what I caught as she whipped up this delight, she sauteed the bananas in butter and brown sugar, poured rum on top, and lit a match.

Shazamm!  Very cool – and kind of scary.  Amazingly delicious.  She served the hot bananas and sauce over frozen yogurt and topped it with whipped cream.  Oh. My.  A bowl of heavenly goodness.  I could eat it every day.

And now that I’ve tantalized you with fine-looking food, I’ll quickly knock down any urge you might have to go check out your fridge. Last week, I gave my class one of those off-the-cuff journal questions.   Would you rather be a hot dog or a hamburger? I don’t know what I was thinking.  Last minute thing.  I didn’t know what kind of responses I was going to get, but I wasn’t expecting much.  Right away, a girl asked me if she could write about another food because she didn’t want to be either of them.  I figured that most of the kids would write about the food they liked to eat the best and why it was good.   There wouldn’t be any entertaining reading for me to pass around to the other teachers.  Sigh.

I was wrong.

This masterpiece, written by a boy who usually rushes through his work and is happiest when he can do the bare minimum, started off in a surprisingly creative way, .

I would rather be a hamburger because the bottom of the bread is for the bed.  The top is my cover.  The lettuce is my stuffed animals.  The meat is me.  The tomatoes are my blankets.  The mustard is my pillow.  And the catchup is my clothes.  That’s how comfortable being a hamburger is . . .

And then it got a little more creative:

until a big fat dude eats you.  Then his fat stomach is your home.

PS. Until he takes a dump.

I love my job.