Jacob went to the National Constitution Center yesterday, the (soon to be closing) Community Center makes sure they have something big for the kids to do during the school breaks- museums and historical stuff usually. They saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall and I guess the Constitution and whatever else they have over there too.
Horses in the street!
Old fashioned people!
Double decker buses!
Police officers laughing together instead of fighting crime!
A bumble bee!
The Tour Guide taught the kids about Founding Fathers and freedom and friendship and other age-appropriate f-words.
Jake said it was fun, even though the kids all got paired with people they weren't friends with so they wouldn't be distracted.
"I don't know how they can tell us that we have the freedom to be friends with anyone we want and then make us be trip buddies with people we never really ever talk to"
The Tour Guide took it upon herself to ask the children what their religion is. Weird. A bunch of five and six year olds, being asked for their religion.
Then later that night, on the way to pick up a pizza because Thursday night is pizza night, "Mom, I have a question. What does "religion" mean? I heard it today on our field trip, and I didn't know so I didn't answer but I made up my own answer because I think it means something you believe in and I figured that in our family, we all believe in never giving up. So "never give up" is our religion, right?"
We don't use the r-word in our house. We talk about beliefs and traditions and how they differ among people and what things/concepts/ideals/opinions we put faith and love and energy and hope into and how we conduct ourselves and how to deal with other people when they conduct themselves in ways that are different than the way we do things and we've said words like Spirit and God and Allah and Jesus and Energy and Love and Trust and Hope and Faith and Christian and Buddhist and Jewish and Muslim but we've never used the r-word. I'm surprised they used it in the spiel for children at the Constitution Center.
Then I feel like a Rate One Asshole for having my goat gotten because someone asked a bunch of little kids what their religion is. But she is free to do so because we live in a country where you can ask anyone anything you damn well like. And people don't have to answer. Usually.
Sometimes I'm easily abraded.
Sometimes I'm abrasive, so I guess it all evens out.
For years I've been using abraised, not abraded. I just recently learned I was wrong.
to be abraded
to be abradable
to have an abrasion
to be an abrader
to be abrasive
to give an abrading
Easter is coming. In two days. In my family we have a tradition of hiding the Easter basket. In Dave's they do not, they just toss it on the table full of more candy than I have ever gotten in my entire childhood. If his mom does a basket for Jake, I'll take a photo. Picture your laundry basket filled with grass and sugar. I have this rule in my house that all candy not eaten in one week's time is either thrown out (the cheap waxy stuff, like Palmer's chocolate), taken to work for the vultures (the bright stuff, like jelly beans and gummy stuff), or frozen to be brought out in the summer when we don't have candy holidays (Hersheys and Nestles). Peeps and Reese's are usually gone within the day.
I think this year Jake's basket will be hidden in the dryer. Or maybe I can do what my grandmother did for us, and that's put a clue in an empty basket on an index card next to your bed and you have to follow the clues to gather your candies and prizes. That's fun for kids who can read. Like a scavenger hunt.
Before we could read, there was a piece of yarn or twine tied to the bedframe and we'd follow it all the way down to the breakfast table (not to be confused with the lunch and dinner tables. As the day progresses, the name of the table changes. I am not aware of any other furniture that changes names throughout the day) and little candies and toys would be fastened to the string with clothespins or paperclips or whatever she had on hand the night before.
I've only been to church on Easter once or twice in my life. As a kid, I assumed we didn't go because it's too crowded. One of the other things we don't say in our house is C&E. It's a derogatory name for Christians who only go to church twice a year, on Christmas and Easter. Churches tend to be packed with C&E's on Christmas and Easter. Best to steer clear. Stay home and eat candy.
Boiling eggs this weekend?
Try and find some that are past the freshness date. They boil nicer and peel easier. You can usually ask a grocer and they'll get them for you from the back. If you can only find fresh ones, put a tablespoon or so of baking soda in your water. It helps.
Let them sit out for a few hours too, room temperature eggs are less likely to crack.
If you want perfectly egg-shaped boiled eggs for Deviled Eggs, take a push pin and poke a hole in the wide end of the egg. It prevents that divot thing from forming.
Boil your eggs in a single layer at the bottom of the pot. Put enough water in there to cover the eggs, but not more than an inch or so above the tops of the eggs. Bring the water to a rolling boil, then turn off the heat, cover the pot, and let them sit for 20 minutes. Rinse in cold water. Let them sit out for a while then put them in the fridge. Dye them when they are cold.
I make the best boiled eggs I've ever had, and now you know my secrets.
If you boil too many, you can make egg salad. My secret there is to toss half of the yolks away. 12 eggs? Throw away 6 yolks, dice your eggs to whatever size you'd like and then mix it together with half as many almost-heaping tablespoons (I use the big spoon from my silverware, not a real tablespoon. There is probably a difference) of mayo than there are eggs. There should be as many tablespoons of mayo as there are yolks. Then salt and pepper to taste. A good variation is paprika. Or cayenne pepper and yellow curry. It's really good, if you like egg salad. I do. I don't know why I do, but I do. But really only mine. And other people like mine too, I promise. It's not just something weird that only I like.
(says the girl who loves peanut butter, mayonnaise, and dill pickle sandwiches.)