This weekend, I packed my delightful, menstrual self into the car with my kids and just kept driving. The idea was that I might cross the February border and, perhaps, end up in June. Or even just March. Menopause, if I got great gas mileage.
I got as far as Connecticut, which was disappointing to say the least. It was still February. And still snowing. Why is life so spiteful?
Since we were in the neighborhood (and she had a bathroom), we dropped in on my mom. She had an afternoon of extreme sports planned, starting with dodge ball in the basement. It took the kids approximately three seconds to realize that I was not a threat at all, and that their grandmother has a vicious arm. They might possibly be scarred for life.
Then, we hit the golf course and sledded until the off-button on my screaming Toddler broke, my mom was bleeding from the nose, and I had smashed my tailbone into a million pieces going off a ramp built by the local 10-year-old boys. Keep it up, punks, I said. We’ll see who’s laughing when it’s your time of the month.
Back at the homestead, my mom’s friend Oscar was doing amazing things with squash. Delicious, stewy things inspired by his native Peru, the secrets to which I hope to be receiving in my e-mail box very soon. The photo below is of a chicken stew with potatoes, carrots, and raisins that he made today.
Then, there was the bread pudding. Needless to say, we’re all recuperating nicely.