I have no idea what to make for dinner tonight.
Last night I made a quiche. It was the first one (I think) that I've made. I didn't eat it but my wife assures me it was good. And she would not be able to hide it being awful. She has the incredible knack of being able to ask a question about a piece of food before taking a single bite, and then claiming she was just asking an innocent question and has formed no opinion on her dinner at all. Which are lies. I know this because she doesn't realize the law of possibilities would suggest that if you can ask any question in the entire world and you choose to ask, "what's the slimy part?" and then covers her mouth and closes her eyes in case even it's image enters her brain, then it isn't just a random question. She also won't take a bite out of anything unless I tell her how I made it. What she really means is, "recount the steps of how I would have made this to the only recipe that I will accept is a good one - which would be the one I use to make this." And by recipe she means the actual recipe she uses as a base to make it, but doesn't actually follow any of the instructions, amounts or guidelines for. She gets away with it though by being the finest cook on earth.
She's passed this wonderful questioning onto her daughter too. I made a leftover turkey-rice soup/casserole thing after Thanksgiving. I made loads of it. My wife had one bowl. My son had three. My daughter casually asked me, "why does this taste like this?" Bear in mind that while I was making it she asked me what the "really tasty smell" was. After asking her to please take another spoonful she helpfully pointed out that I, "should have made it like that yummy rice pudding instead of disgusting." I'll leave out the Disgusting next time. Add that she's four so she's rebelling against food. She did claim that she wanted to try all sorts of new things so that she could go out to restaurants with her mother that may or may not have shellfish at them (ergo I cannot go). But when offered a slice of quiche she took that back and said she was only referring to things made of chocolate. Figuring that would happen I'd also given her a piece of bread, a slice of salami and stood one of her carrots up in a small blob of ranch dressing. I told her it was a melted snowman which is actually quite cute. She didn't eat that either.
Yesterday my son broke into the pantry and gave my dog a box (yes a whole box) of biscuits to eat. My dog - not particularly bothered that he's often mistaken for a girl - had a munch on two or three. He wasn't particularly interested in the rest of them. You see his logic is that if there's lots of food in the house then he should behave like a total dick to make the point that he should get some. So if I'm making soup and stripping a turkey carcass and I start chucking him the nasty grey bits he will spend the next thirty minutes growling about how he hasn't had enough beef lately. That's the reason that I noticed that my son was sat in a pile of multi-colored dog biscuits and eating them himself.
I mentioned that yesterday to someone and they pondered whether I would need to keep an eye on my son in case I have to take him to the doctor. Which is either naivety of the highest order or a thick-layered cover up of the fact that everyone with pets has eaten their food. Don't pretend you haven't. Especially you people who feed wet food to your cats and dogs. We all know that every third or fourth time you feed them you'll stick the wet jellied fork into your mouth to see if it tastes any good this time. Then you'll lament that the cat food seems to taste a bit gritty and eat some Cheezits to hide the cat-mouth smell you now have stinking up your own gob. Of course there are the handful of people who actually really like the dark brown bits of wet dog food and have secretly spread it on their own sandwiches. And I know people who buy this stuff are trying to rehydrate it and make casseroles with it for the local soup kitchen.
Not me of course. Like I said - my dog eats chicken. By the way that warehouse for the Fish4Dogs people must be a pleasure to work in.
My son has some rituals that I just don't understand. For example, if we go outside when he comes back in and I don't physically pull the shoes off his feet he will insist on only taking one off. There's no getting him to cooperate to get the other one off. If you do actually pin him down and pry it off him he goes bananas and tries to stick it back on. Clearly he's trying to communicate with the alien-wolverine overlords that he works for. I haven't actually checked to see if it's the same foot either. I am though presuming that it's part of some odd communicative body of language that also includes gurning out the window at the garbage truck and urinating onto a blanket that I had literally just taken out of the dryer. This may also be the reason he hides in a cupboard with a flashlight screaming my name.
Yesterday I arrived to pick my daughter up from school to see their latest joyous snack food. It was apparently someone's birthday so it was certainly time to celebrate. So each child had an enormous, "Cupcake Kabob."
Firstly, I apologize to any British people who have seen how I've chosen to spell that word. I know that the Oxford Dictionary explains that the Anglicized word is derived from the Urdu, "kabab" - but that's how this particular nation spells it. I would like to take this opportunity to remind people that one version of English is not the right one when it comes to using non-English words. This point was saliently made many years back when a very unattractive Welsh girl aggressively told my wife that the correct English word for a zucchini is a courgette, and it's just typical of Americans to try and change it to something else. Please note the inherent irony of a non-English person (using a language from a neighboring country) telling another non-English person that they should be using a French word to describe something the Spanish found in South America.
Secondly, I really do mean the teacher had stuck a stick through an apple slice, a grape and a cupcake. Not a mini one either - a full sized cupcake. So I am happy there was fruit involved. And by involved I obviously mean thrown into a garbage can. Which really feels like the school is rubbing my nose in it. Not only are the hellbent on stuffing each child full to the brim with the kind of shit truckers won't eat from a vending machine at 2am in the morning. Now they're literally teaching kids to accept that all plants - be they fruit or vegetables - are just a garnish to accompany cakes, cookies, icing and jellied sugar. I'm sure there's a bus trip scheduled to take them to the nearest apple orchard to pluck the trees bare and chuck all the fruit into massive dumpsters. Whomever rubbishes the most fruit wins a paddling pool filled with corn-syrup and Little Debbie cakes.
For those of you who haven't seen the goings on of my son and a wolf be prepared to get cottonmouth. He does this for a large portion of the day as well. He used to lick it's nose, but now is brazenly necking with the things abhorrent red tongue.
That may seem troubling to you. But my son is not to blame. That wolf is a terrible deviant. It will use any and all occasions to sex-up whatever situation it finds itself in. Take this following photo. It may have been intended to be a quick snap of my beautiful wife petting her dog, but that wolf quickly grasped the opportunity to create a rather troubling canine/kabob/spitroast/nightmare.
Lastly my daughter came home from school yesterday with a Christmas wishlist. It's from the school library and they claim that she had a think about things and would really like us to buy her a book called Spongebob and the Attack Of The Zombies. She knows of Spongebob. She may have seen maybe two whole episodes in her short life. She does not know what zombies are. This is clearly an attempt by the library to offload books they don't want. And teach my child about zombies. And I should have the responsibility of doing that. Which is why come the early hours of tomorrow I'm taking my kids to the mall to see those weird people walk around like nutters in a tight-mincing pattern.
Anyhoo - I have to go. My son has just noticed that nobody is sitting on that wolf's face.
There - much better.