I am Behind the Times

This just in!  Mr. Goodbar, a chocolate bar with peanuts, is delicious!  I made this discovery after foolishly going grocery shopping while hungry.  I bought aforementioned Mr. Goodbar.  Get this:  it’s all the delicious peanut/chocolate goodness of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, but without the ultra-sugary granulated “peanut filling”!  I ate half while watching the Emmy’s and thinking it’s about time I rented some of the 30-Rock seasons on DVD.

This weekend the phoenix rose from the ashes.  And by phoenix I mean the second more active version of my sourdough starter.  And by ashes I mean gummy ectoplasm of the first starter.  I knew the first was good, but I wanted to work in some rye flour and get my starter sour and active.  Boy, it worked.  I was up to twice-daily feedings and still my little starter demanded more, doubling and bubbling and being a naughty little pet.  So I brought it to 70% hydration, fed it again, and put it in the fridge.  Tonight I’ll make another sourdough and will bake it tomorrow.  Then I will nom nom all week until I weigh around 2000 kilograms and have a frog in a glass bowl of yellow liquid at my side and a Twi’lek dancing over my Rancor pit. 

Potty training this weekend was…well.  Baby Harbat will kill me for this when she’s 14 and trawling the internet, but, it was messy.  We’ve yet to master the timing of sitting on the potty and producing, so there were multiple clean-ups and changing out of big-girl underwear.  She’ll get it.  But until then I’m thinking of lining the house with newspapers.

On Saturday we went to a nearby park with a lake and…wait for it…ducks!  And geese!  And acres of waterside mud.  Since it’s well documented that I am an idiot, I dressed BH in a pretty dress and her cutest favorite red shoes.  As soon as we got to the park and she saw the ducks, she made a beeline like a Denny’s patron towards the all-you-can-eat breakfast bar.  Straight through the sticky mud and bird crap, right for the water.  We took off her shoes, rolled up her pants.  There, all ready for mess.  Then she slid in the mud like a pro ball player, mud caked up to her armpit and on her hands.  Which she then sucked on while we had a picnic dinner.  [sigh].  Next time we’ll take her wellies, a raincoat, and a submarine.  And she’ll ignore the birds and run through the parking lot instead.

Having a kid leads you to humming “Hip hip hooray for the piglet and the Pooh” on the way to work, and wondering if the brown stain on your shirt is pre- or post-digestion food.  You know what makes it worthwhile?  As I was leaving home this morning, Baby Harbat stood at the front door and yelled out, “Bye Babbo!  Byeeee!” in her high-pitched little voice.  My smile last all the way to work.

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Writer, architect, father, husband.

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