Sunday, March 10, 2013

Dear Mediocre Honey Crisp Apple,

Dear Mediocre Honey Crisp Apple,

I thought we had a deal. If I remember correctly it went something like this; I will see you in the store, you will lay there beautifully bright, round, with glowing hues of yellow and orange and I will be convinced. You will deliver unspoken promises of healthier eating choices (which will boost both my energy and  my naturally condescending manner as I boast to friends about how "I eat seasonally") and I will (almost) happily spend the extra dollar and fifteen cents per pound so that you can come home with me and we can enter into this splendid contract of love. You need to fulfill your destiny and I need to stop eating cocoa krispies " Let's do it!" I beamed, "yes, let's!" you replied.

So what the hell?? I was counting on you. This morning, hungry and rushed, I grabbed a crusty, cranny ridden english muffin, fork split that mo'fo' and popped it in the toaster. Then I grabbed the butter, the strawberry rhubarb preserves (fresh from friggin' Lancaster might I add) and a table spoon. A table spoon! You feel me? I was preparing to slather, no, decimate, that toasted muffin with fat and sugar (a combination better know as the 'nectar of the Gods'), when you looked at me with your trademark chubby cheer and I knew what I had to do. I threw the butter back into the fridge, pulled the muffin out of the toaster and grabbed you, feeling your approval and your promising firmness in my hand. I didn't even look back as I walked out the door, Honey Crisp! I was making myself proud and my heart swelled within me. I started up the car, and the engine roared just a little bit stronger than it did yesterday. I waited for a red light to take the first glorious bite. I wanted to enjoy it, to not rush, to savor my sweet victory in the healthy eating battle. Mouth watering in anticipation, I took the first bite. The first, mushy, squishy, mealy bite. It must be a mistake, but the next 3 bites were equally devastating. Damn you Honey Crisp, you are neither honey nor crisp! You are a crap apple, you are a crapple and you've broken my heart today. And I may never forgive you.

Running away with the muffin man.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Dear Little Girl of Mine

Dear Little Girl of Mine,

Thank you for blowing me kisses just before you walk into the public bathroom stall, it will make the looks I get, in response to your screaming, (at the top of your lungs "I did Caca! Wipe Meeee!") infinitely more bearable.

With love and unending thanks for the humility you've taught me,
Proud Mama