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Saturday Morning Breakfast: The journey to a complete(ly unhealthy but Oh So Tasty) breakfast. :D

~ Bon Steele ~ Leave a comment

Warning!  This is a totally non-writery post. 🙂  But it *does* have bacon. So, you know – balance and all that.

(BTW, sorry for somewhat poor image quality. Took these on my phone.)

Sesame French bread. Butter. Saigon cinnamon. Turbinado sugar.
Maple smoked bacon.
If I owned a bacon company, I would totally name it after Roman emperors. Then my tagline could be: "Render unto Ceasar..." Heheheh.
That sounds naughty.
Some crispity (mine!) some not so much (everyone else's)
Toast is done!
Breakfast is served

The sky is blue. No, it’s not.

~ Bon Steele ~ 2 Comments

The Girl and I got into a spat this morning. It wasn’t serious but it was frustrating.

ME:   That skirt doesn’t touch your knees – pretty sure you can’t wear it to school.
HER:   It does so! *ineffectual tug, ineffectual tug* See?
ME:   Really? Change skirts. I don’t want them to send you home.
HER:   They aren’t going to send me home!

Fashion sense. I haz it.

It wasn’t so much the skirt. I actually kind of liked her outfit. Stripey socks and Jack Skellington T-shirt FTW!

No. It was the immediate jump to arguing that made me see red. Because this has been happening a lot. A whole lot. She will argue with me about anything and everything. Heck, she argues with me about stuff we agree on. It’s like she can’t help herself.

And, I know that it is because she is twelve and asserting her independence and becoming her own person and yadda yadda yadda. I am cool with that. Sorta. Kinda. Maybe.

OK. I am cool with it in theory. But it still is difficult to experience. One, because it is just goddamn annoying to have everything you say brought up as a debate point. Two, because it means that she isn’t wholly my Girl, anymore. She is becoming an adult, someone who – in theory – thinks and decides for herself. Which is very cool and keen and all that. But it doesn’t make it easier.

Especially when we are arguing about whether the sky is blue.

CHICKEN: A Post for Moms

~ Bon Steele ~ 3 Comments

Did any of your family ever just *decide* that you were going to collect something? Like stamps? Or baseball cards? They determine that either it was something you were interested in, or that it was a good interest for you to have. And that is what they got you for every gift, holiday, birthday, forever and ever, world without end, joy and trumpets.

Yeah.

My paternal Grandmother did that to us. She sort of arbitrarily decided that each of us was going to collect a particular animal (mine was bunnies, how off the mark was THAT, I ask you?) while Dad’s was a ram.
Actually, thinking about it – I cannot recall what she subjected my brother to. Hmm. Maybe she didn’t make him suffer the ceramic horde? She always DID like him better.

 

For my Mom. Because she collects them. My Grandmother said so.

In any event, Mom’s was chickens. Specifically, ceramic chickens. Every year, Mom got a plethora* of chickens, in every shade imaginable. The only bits that linked them together were a.) hideouness and b.) … No, I lie. The only linking thing was how absolutely UGLY they were. And how apt to stare at you when you walked into a room at 3 AM, which is to say waaay after curfew. Just looking at you. Judging. Letting you know how you’ve broken your sweet Mom’s heart for being out after hours and doing god knows what until all hours.

You know?
I think I may need to start collecting chickens, too.

 

 

 

 

 

* – yep, I know what a “plethora” is. I have the benefit of superior intellect and education.
And if you know what I am riffing on, you are almost assuredly one of My Tribe.