I was recently presented with a question as to my opinion on a political issue, and it got me thinking. A lot. And I've come to some conclusions. So here you have it, my all-inclusive primer on making political decisions. You're welcome!
1) Care. If you don't give a hoot's hoot about something, either excuse yourself from the issue, or learn enough about it that you do care. Take very seriously the issues to which you assign your opinion, your voice, your vote. And care about the fact that you're throwing your reputation in with that thing. I remember vividly the first time I was in a voting box and realized that if I didn't have an issue on a topic, I could abstain from voting, and refrain from inadvertently siding with something I didn't agree with. But here's the kicker: I have found that in every issue I didn't know anything at all, once I looked at the facts, I knew where I stood. Which bring us to...
2) Check your emotions. Yeah. I said that. Think with your brain. There's a time to feel about things, and there's a time to sit down and sort through some reality, and emotions muck up the waters. And really amped emotions throw your brain out the window. See item #3
3) Ignore the Chicken Little's. If someone is screaming at you that the world is going to end if you don't vote a particular way, then smile, back away slowly, and find some new turf. Does everyone remember how this story goes? Chicken Little walks unsuspecting under an acorn and convinces herself that the sky is falling. And convinces Henny Penny. And Ducky Lucky. And a whole slew of other forest animals to GO TELL THE KING that the sky is falling the world is ending. And who should arrive, but a fox to play into their terror-fest with plans to lead them off to his den AND EAT THEM.
Folks, much as we would all love to think that there was a magic wand that could fix *everything* in a single sweep/rule/law/proposition, there's just not. No one issue will sink the battle ship. Many small course adjustments can make change, and that's great. But really, if they're that worked up about something, you may want to fact-check what's up, i.e. acorns falling in nature do not a sky-catastrophe make.
4) Research, read, and research some more. Sorry. If you hated homework in high school or are totally intimidated by legal vernacular, this one's gonna take some swallowing. There's this magical thing called public record. You can read all the words of every issue out there. If you want to know about something, Google it. (And stick to sites that have things like .gov in their names) I am amazed at how often an issue (All Sneetches MUST have stars!) is actually parading around to hide another issue (We'd like to tax all frankfurter parties). This issue that prompted the post? The hell-fire and brimstone petition in question? The title issue was #7 on the list. SEVEN, FOLKS. Behind six other non-related things. That means they were riling people up on a topic that was so far down the list, you wouldn't get to it at your average PTC meeting.
*deep breath*
5) Talk to someone on the other side of the issue, and ask them to explain their side to you.
Still with me?
This is one that flies straight in the face of the most dysfunctional part of this paradigm. The part where we only talk to the people who agree with us, and get new information about the evil *them* from the all-holy *us*. Please, hear my heart on this. We are all human beings. We all have families, love, hurt, dreams... all that. The assumption that you daren't even TALK to people on the other side of an issue comes out of fear. Nasty, nasty fear. Fear that hides and is so scared that it'll hear something different, that it might have its ideas challenged, that it might learn something new, that it just plugs its ears and closes its eyes. Not a pretty picture.
Every time I have approached someone from the opposing side of an issue (and trust me, I've walked this walk on some pretty hairy talking points) I have been met with respect, appreciation, honor, and a really, REALLY great conversation. Try it, you'll like it.
6) Step back, take a breath, trust your gut. Maybe there's a third option.. Maybe the whole story isn't being told. Who knows, right? But once you have all the facts, you have my blessing to make a decision, pick a position, and...
7) Walk out your choice with your eyes open and your head high. Brilliant.
So, what does this have to do with the Sneetches? Take a moment and look at the story. (P.S. Seuss is brilliant) We had the star-bellies, who are a**holes. We have the no-stars, the victims. And McBean, the man with all the answers. But what would've happened if someone had stopped to ask, "What is the deal with all this?" How different would the ending of that story be if someone had walked over, talked to the other group and said, "Hey, how do YOU feel about all this?" Could they have skipped all the money-spending and emotions and running around in circles? Because Sneetches, after all, are all Sneetches.
The next time you are faced with an issue that looks like the end of the world, take a beat. Breathe. Read. Talk. Teach a Sneetch. Catch you at the next frankfurter party. ;-)
~Me
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Foodie Observations
For those that don't know, I consider myself a "Foodie." I love beautiful, well-crafted foods of most any kind, and deeply appreciate the art therein. I love to cook, to talk about cooking, to critique foods, and to learn about how recipes work. C'est magnifique!
I was shopping today at the grocery in preparation for Thanksgiving, and noticed two things:
1- It's a mad, mad, mad place in those grocery stores lately! Grocery stores are overpopulated, especially by those not hugely familiar with cooking.
2- All the places that I generally find a little peace and solace (bulk spices, produce, whole meats and dairy) were madhouses of wandering peoples, and the places I don't often frequent (cracker aisle, cereal aisle) were ghost towns.
Here's my suggestion:
Next holiday cooking season, we should write up a small questionnaire to determine the cooking aptitude of the average consumer. Say, "Name three uses for cumin." Those that pass with flying colors may shop at a certain time. Those who fall in the middle-ish range may shop at another time. Those who've never heard of cumin can shop at yet another time.
No offense, y'all. While I don't mind lending a hand with someone choosing between yams and sweet potatoes, there are days I only want to shop with my peer group.
Those deemed worthy to shop in a given time frame may come, shop, bring no one else (because really, do you need an entourage to pick out the carrots?) and get their grocery needs filled in a civil, peaceful manner. Ta Da!
Now, I'm off to make my Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake.
~Me
I was shopping today at the grocery in preparation for Thanksgiving, and noticed two things:
1- It's a mad, mad, mad place in those grocery stores lately! Grocery stores are overpopulated, especially by those not hugely familiar with cooking.
2- All the places that I generally find a little peace and solace (bulk spices, produce, whole meats and dairy) were madhouses of wandering peoples, and the places I don't often frequent (cracker aisle, cereal aisle) were ghost towns.
Here's my suggestion:
Next holiday cooking season, we should write up a small questionnaire to determine the cooking aptitude of the average consumer. Say, "Name three uses for cumin." Those that pass with flying colors may shop at a certain time. Those who fall in the middle-ish range may shop at another time. Those who've never heard of cumin can shop at yet another time.
No offense, y'all. While I don't mind lending a hand with someone choosing between yams and sweet potatoes, there are days I only want to shop with my peer group.
Those deemed worthy to shop in a given time frame may come, shop, bring no one else (because really, do you need an entourage to pick out the carrots?) and get their grocery needs filled in a civil, peaceful manner. Ta Da!
Now, I'm off to make my Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake.
~Me
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
What I've learned...
1,788 miles
32 hours in a Chevy Malibu (only includes town to town driving, no in-town)
1 cabin, 5 homes
2 bikes which became 3 bikes which became 1 different bike which became 2 bikes
43 family members
11 village members
Lowest temperature: 45 degrees
Highest temperature: 105 degrees
13 buy-off gifts for my 5 and 7 year old boys
One epic trip.
1) Whether blood, married, accidental, or chosen, family is family, and will always be.
2) It is not necessary to have video available as an option for children to survive a trip such as this.
3) Cousins make life worth living for those under ten, especially those living far away from said cousins.
4) You can never guess the impact that you will have in the lives of others, or the impact the lives of others will have on you. Live graciously. Spread joy. Love those around you.
5) Honor your dead. But also honor your living, because they will someday become your dead.
6) A hometown is made up of more than "that house". A hometown is in the parks and streets and schools in which you LIVED your life.
7) Take pictures. They are a thousand memories encapsulated into one image. They will continue to speak for decades to come.
8) When leaving for long periods, bring whatever daily normalcy with you that you can.
9) When you are gone, you will first relish the escape from normalcy, like a child running away from responsibilities. You will find a rhythm of the new, the flexible, the whatever. Then you will crave your normal. This is homesickness.
10) Upon arriving home, normal will hit you like a Mack truck. As will laundry.
11) It is possible to create a capsule wardrobe allowing the greatest number of outfit options using the smallest number of distinct interchangeable items to do so. You will congratulate yourself on a smaller suitcase and the planned laundry stops along the way. You will hate it by the end of your trip.
12) Find and cultivate pockets of silence. They are life blood.
13) Bring a book, but a small book, with no subject of consequence. The bringing of said book makes no guarantees that you will have time to read it. Omission of book guarantees a need, and you will have to purchase one. Bringing a large book will cause you to curse it. Bringing a book of consequence will drive you to want a book of no consequence, and cause you to purchase one.
14) Leave your home in such a state that it could lay empty or be utilized. You never know.
15) Be socially open and inviting, while still drawing boundary lines of independence. Go with the group unless food, activity, fatigue, or other circumstances cause you to separate, and then make no apologies or offenses, if possible.
16) Sleep aids are a Godsend. Use whatever aids you.
17) There are moments in life that truly take a village. Large gatherings of family members can constitute a village, and make the best cheerleading crowd for removal of training wheels.
18) With the right amount of dedication, it IS possible to rouse and get on the road a family of four at 4:30am.
19) When in doubt, throw them in a swimming pool.
20) Despite it's foibles, social media is the tie that binds us. Use Facebook to create face-to-face time. Heaven help us if we didn't have it.
Finally, with careful planning and the right mix of activities, you can have a vacation in the midst of a trip to see family. And who knows, with practice, maybe even one day all the family trips may be vacations.
~Me
32 hours in a Chevy Malibu (only includes town to town driving, no in-town)
1 cabin, 5 homes
2 bikes which became 3 bikes which became 1 different bike which became 2 bikes
43 family members
11 village members
Lowest temperature: 45 degrees
Highest temperature: 105 degrees
13 buy-off gifts for my 5 and 7 year old boys
One epic trip.
1) Whether blood, married, accidental, or chosen, family is family, and will always be.
2) It is not necessary to have video available as an option for children to survive a trip such as this.
3) Cousins make life worth living for those under ten, especially those living far away from said cousins.
4) You can never guess the impact that you will have in the lives of others, or the impact the lives of others will have on you. Live graciously. Spread joy. Love those around you.
5) Honor your dead. But also honor your living, because they will someday become your dead.
6) A hometown is made up of more than "that house". A hometown is in the parks and streets and schools in which you LIVED your life.
7) Take pictures. They are a thousand memories encapsulated into one image. They will continue to speak for decades to come.
8) When leaving for long periods, bring whatever daily normalcy with you that you can.
9) When you are gone, you will first relish the escape from normalcy, like a child running away from responsibilities. You will find a rhythm of the new, the flexible, the whatever. Then you will crave your normal. This is homesickness.
10) Upon arriving home, normal will hit you like a Mack truck. As will laundry.
11) It is possible to create a capsule wardrobe allowing the greatest number of outfit options using the smallest number of distinct interchangeable items to do so. You will congratulate yourself on a smaller suitcase and the planned laundry stops along the way. You will hate it by the end of your trip.
12) Find and cultivate pockets of silence. They are life blood.
13) Bring a book, but a small book, with no subject of consequence. The bringing of said book makes no guarantees that you will have time to read it. Omission of book guarantees a need, and you will have to purchase one. Bringing a large book will cause you to curse it. Bringing a book of consequence will drive you to want a book of no consequence, and cause you to purchase one.
14) Leave your home in such a state that it could lay empty or be utilized. You never know.
15) Be socially open and inviting, while still drawing boundary lines of independence. Go with the group unless food, activity, fatigue, or other circumstances cause you to separate, and then make no apologies or offenses, if possible.
16) Sleep aids are a Godsend. Use whatever aids you.
17) There are moments in life that truly take a village. Large gatherings of family members can constitute a village, and make the best cheerleading crowd for removal of training wheels.
18) With the right amount of dedication, it IS possible to rouse and get on the road a family of four at 4:30am.
19) When in doubt, throw them in a swimming pool.
20) Despite it's foibles, social media is the tie that binds us. Use Facebook to create face-to-face time. Heaven help us if we didn't have it.
Finally, with careful planning and the right mix of activities, you can have a vacation in the midst of a trip to see family. And who knows, with practice, maybe even one day all the family trips may be vacations.
~Me
Saturday, July 6, 2013
I believe in Santa
I know, not what you expected on July 6th. Whatevs.
Today, my 7-year-old asked the question. THE question. Driving in the car to one place or another:
"Dad? Mom? Is Santa Claus real?"
(*Side note: Every question, and I mean EVERY question in my car starts with a title query. "Mom?" "Yes." "What's seven times nine?" "Sixty-three." . . . "Mom?" "Yes." "Why does 'pita' have the word 'pee' in it?" . . . . "Mom?"
I'm not sure if it's endearing or a sign that they think I'm going to somehow escape. While still driving the car.
*End side note.)
<furtive glance between parents>
"What do you mean, buddy?"
We hemmed, we hawed, we asked clarifying questions to see exactly what he was getting at, and came to the conclusion that YES he was asking what we thought and NO we were not prepared for this conversation. Therefore, we tabled the issue, planned a parental council on the matter, and went on with the drive.
Here's the thing. I get it. I understand. We want to tell our children the truth. We want them to have reality firmly in hand. We want them to follow in our belief footsteps, religious or otherwise, and march bravely into their futures.
But I love Santa Claus.
So here's what we decided to say.
Santa Claus is real, like love is real. Santa is an idea that we all participate in. He represents the goodness, the wholesome magic, that reality that's set just far enough away from our day-to-day to let him still maintain that sparkle. Santa has different wrapping paper for you, because he's special and he wants you to feel SPECIAL. He tracks his magical snow footprints down the hallway so that you know he doesn't take for granted where you are, because you're PRECIOUS. He's not a man or a person, but Santa is a concept. And that concept of Santa makes us all a little lighter, happier, and more joyful.
He looked on with the brave smile that says "I'm trying not to be sad about this." And I hope he understood.
And then we showed him where we hid the Santa wrapping paper, and told him he was sworn to secrecy for his little brother. And all the world was a better place, 'cause you KNOW there's nothing happier for an older brother than being in on a secret with mom & dad. Happy ending to all.
...and to all a good night.
~Me
Today, my 7-year-old asked the question. THE question. Driving in the car to one place or another:
"Dad? Mom? Is Santa Claus real?"
(*Side note: Every question, and I mean EVERY question in my car starts with a title query. "Mom?" "Yes." "What's seven times nine?" "Sixty-three." . . . "Mom?" "Yes." "Why does 'pita' have the word 'pee' in it?" . . . . "Mom?"
I'm not sure if it's endearing or a sign that they think I'm going to somehow escape. While still driving the car.
*End side note.)
<furtive glance between parents>
"What do you mean, buddy?"
We hemmed, we hawed, we asked clarifying questions to see exactly what he was getting at, and came to the conclusion that YES he was asking what we thought and NO we were not prepared for this conversation. Therefore, we tabled the issue, planned a parental council on the matter, and went on with the drive.
Here's the thing. I get it. I understand. We want to tell our children the truth. We want them to have reality firmly in hand. We want them to follow in our belief footsteps, religious or otherwise, and march bravely into their futures.
But I love Santa Claus.
So here's what we decided to say.
Santa Claus is real, like love is real. Santa is an idea that we all participate in. He represents the goodness, the wholesome magic, that reality that's set just far enough away from our day-to-day to let him still maintain that sparkle. Santa has different wrapping paper for you, because he's special and he wants you to feel SPECIAL. He tracks his magical snow footprints down the hallway so that you know he doesn't take for granted where you are, because you're PRECIOUS. He's not a man or a person, but Santa is a concept. And that concept of Santa makes us all a little lighter, happier, and more joyful.
He looked on with the brave smile that says "I'm trying not to be sad about this." And I hope he understood.
And then we showed him where we hid the Santa wrapping paper, and told him he was sworn to secrecy for his little brother. And all the world was a better place, 'cause you KNOW there's nothing happier for an older brother than being in on a secret with mom & dad. Happy ending to all.
...and to all a good night.
~Me
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
My entourage
I have been chewing on an idea lately. Processing the thought of what each of our personal burdens looks like. Feels like. Carries like. When we pass on the street or in church and ask "How are you doing?"
"Fine." *blink, blink*
What if there was someway to shake up reality so that you carried the burdens of your heart in the form of a visible group of people. Your own personal posse.
"How are y'all doing?"
"Well. Let me introduce you to my crew. Here's my cousin who's fighting cancer. This is my best friend, she's got kind of a crazy work situation going on. Over there is my family, and you can see the little herd of family issues hanging on around there. Oh, and that's my daughter, who's decided that screaming fits are the newest thing and that parental compliance is completely optional... Uncle Verne, who's decided that we all don't exist. And back there in the corner, that's the embodiment my own self-discovery and self-purpose struggles. Wave, sweetie!"
I wonder if anyone would be "fine" anymore.
Would we hide more, knowing that all those weights we carry around are suddenly uber-visible? Would we be more brash, more real, knowing that there's no way to fake it, so you may as well just own up to what you're carrying? Would those carrying less feel obligated to carry more? Would those carrying more suddenly feel as though they've been put upon? Would the drama types suddenly quell their drama?
Picture it:
Drama type: You don't underSTAND. My life is so HARD. I have TWO problems in my entourage!! Like, TWO! One, two!! How can you even THINK that I could, like, even CONSIDER doing ANYthing other than having a CRISIS over my PROBLEMS.
Non-drama type: Yeah. (looking over shoulder at her entourage of twenty) I can see that.
Drama type: (Noticing larger entourage of other person) Oh.
Side Note: Deep thoughts, sarcasm, dry, witty humor, mild irreverence. You've been warned. It's part of the package deal, here.
Try the idea on. It's a fun one to play with.
~Me
"Fine." *blink, blink*
What if there was someway to shake up reality so that you carried the burdens of your heart in the form of a visible group of people. Your own personal posse.
"How are y'all doing?"
"Well. Let me introduce you to my crew. Here's my cousin who's fighting cancer. This is my best friend, she's got kind of a crazy work situation going on. Over there is my family, and you can see the little herd of family issues hanging on around there. Oh, and that's my daughter, who's decided that screaming fits are the newest thing and that parental compliance is completely optional... Uncle Verne, who's decided that we all don't exist. And back there in the corner, that's the embodiment my own self-discovery and self-purpose struggles. Wave, sweetie!"
I wonder if anyone would be "fine" anymore.
Would we hide more, knowing that all those weights we carry around are suddenly uber-visible? Would we be more brash, more real, knowing that there's no way to fake it, so you may as well just own up to what you're carrying? Would those carrying less feel obligated to carry more? Would those carrying more suddenly feel as though they've been put upon? Would the drama types suddenly quell their drama?
Picture it:
Drama type: You don't underSTAND. My life is so HARD. I have TWO problems in my entourage!! Like, TWO! One, two!! How can you even THINK that I could, like, even CONSIDER doing ANYthing other than having a CRISIS over my PROBLEMS.
Non-drama type: Yeah. (looking over shoulder at her entourage of twenty) I can see that.
Drama type: (Noticing larger entourage of other person) Oh.
Side Note: Deep thoughts, sarcasm, dry, witty humor, mild irreverence. You've been warned. It's part of the package deal, here.
Try the idea on. It's a fun one to play with.
~Me
Friday, June 21, 2013
Summa-summa-summertime!!
In typing out that title, I'm not sure it completely works, but whatever.
Breathe in, Breathe out. Today is the first day of summer. *bing*
I find it ironic that my first *real* day of summer coincides with the official, calendar-y, everyone else agreed start to summer, June 21st. Woohoo!
I have spent the last two glorious weeks in the process of teaching twenty-odd humans how to do the things that I love to do. I'm a percussionist. Since I spend much of my life receiving a confused stare and cocking of the head when I make this statement, I'll elaborate.
Merriam-Webster says that a percussionist is one skilled in the playing of percussion instruments.
Wikipedia says a percussion instrument is a musical instrument that is sounded by being struck or scraped by a beater, or struck, scraped or rubbed by hand, or struck against another similar instrument. The percussion family is believed to include the oldest musical instruments, following the human voice.
(Gotta say, I'm pretty jazzed to be associated with the oldest musical instruments, following the human voice.)
Percussion instruments are most commonly divided into two classes: Pitched percussion instruments, which produce notes with an identifiable pitch, and unpitched percussion instruments, which produce notes without an identifiable pitch.
There you go. Clear as day.
But the part I find interesting is how much I spend my teaching time talking about breath. And body. And movement. And dance. And joy. Yes, in a very fundamental sense, I hit stuff, but the longer I play, the more the music becomes an extension of the life and joy and breath inside me. And oh, how fun to share that with others.
I especially love that moment when someone sees a percussion concert for the first time and says "Wow, you guys have a lot of fun!" Or a wind player thrills over being able to play with "All these different instruments. I only get one, but you all get lots and lots!" Explaining the interest and beauty of a phased rhythm, then watching them experience it. Raising the bar. Expecting excellence. Very good stuff.
So now we close the workshop for another year and turn to the tasks of the season.
Swim.
Sun.
Rest.
Play.
Connect.
Summer on, my friends.
~Me
Breathe in, Breathe out. Today is the first day of summer. *bing*
I find it ironic that my first *real* day of summer coincides with the official, calendar-y, everyone else agreed start to summer, June 21st. Woohoo!
I have spent the last two glorious weeks in the process of teaching twenty-odd humans how to do the things that I love to do. I'm a percussionist. Since I spend much of my life receiving a confused stare and cocking of the head when I make this statement, I'll elaborate.
Merriam-Webster says that a percussionist is one skilled in the playing of percussion instruments.
Wikipedia says a percussion instrument is a musical instrument that is sounded by being struck or scraped by a beater, or struck, scraped or rubbed by hand, or struck against another similar instrument. The percussion family is believed to include the oldest musical instruments, following the human voice.
(Gotta say, I'm pretty jazzed to be associated with the oldest musical instruments, following the human voice.)
Percussion instruments are most commonly divided into two classes: Pitched percussion instruments, which produce notes with an identifiable pitch, and unpitched percussion instruments, which produce notes without an identifiable pitch.
There you go. Clear as day.
But the part I find interesting is how much I spend my teaching time talking about breath. And body. And movement. And dance. And joy. Yes, in a very fundamental sense, I hit stuff, but the longer I play, the more the music becomes an extension of the life and joy and breath inside me. And oh, how fun to share that with others.
I especially love that moment when someone sees a percussion concert for the first time and says "Wow, you guys have a lot of fun!" Or a wind player thrills over being able to play with "All these different instruments. I only get one, but you all get lots and lots!" Explaining the interest and beauty of a phased rhythm, then watching them experience it. Raising the bar. Expecting excellence. Very good stuff.
So now we close the workshop for another year and turn to the tasks of the season.
Swim.
Sun.
Rest.
Play.
Connect.
Summer on, my friends.
~Me
Friday, June 7, 2013
Mama's two-fisting it again...
Welcome to the first official day of summer. <throws confetti>
Actually, not really. It'll start in two weeks. More on that later.
We started vacation off with a whimper, due to some LATE night drama last night. But all is well, everyone's alive (to the best of my knowledge), and we made it home safe & sound. Rising at the grand hour of 8:30 am (I truly live the lush life) I proceeded to herd my Things 1 & 2 off the couch to feed them breakfast. Food - check. Milk - check. I began making my breakfast smoothie and latte. Check, check! Here's where you can see my Californian roots showing.
My breakfast smoothie:
1/2 cup traditional rolled oats
1/2 cup plain, nonfat Greek yogurt
1 Tb Chia seeds
3/4 cup frozen berries
Water
Blend. Drink. Go on with life. Ignore just how granola-earth-y this looks.
So, having made my breakfast beverages, I decide to call husband.
"Hey husband, how are things?"
"Hon, you're slurring."
"What?!?"
"Slurring. Have you had your coffee yet?"
"Working on it now."
"Call me back when you've had your coffee."
Side note 1: There was no alcohol consumed this morning, or in the 36 hours prior
Side note 2: NO, I am NOT a morning person. If the world could choose to start about 10:30ish, I would totally be on board.
Side note 3: For some cosmic joke, I have two children who are wired to rise at 6:30 every day. Every. Single. Day.
Side note 4: I have no idea how I survived a 7am high school jazz band for 4 years.
If you're ever in my neighborhood, and you see a red-haired woman wandering the streets with extremely vertical hair and beverages clutched in both hands, just tell me to drink my coffee and point me towards home.
~Me
Actually, not really. It'll start in two weeks. More on that later.
We started vacation off with a whimper, due to some LATE night drama last night. But all is well, everyone's alive (to the best of my knowledge), and we made it home safe & sound. Rising at the grand hour of 8:30 am (I truly live the lush life) I proceeded to herd my Things 1 & 2 off the couch to feed them breakfast. Food - check. Milk - check. I began making my breakfast smoothie and latte. Check, check! Here's where you can see my Californian roots showing.
My breakfast smoothie:
1/2 cup traditional rolled oats
1/2 cup plain, nonfat Greek yogurt
1 Tb Chia seeds
3/4 cup frozen berries
Water
Blend. Drink. Go on with life. Ignore just how granola-earth-y this looks.
So, having made my breakfast beverages, I decide to call husband.
"Hey husband, how are things?"
"Hon, you're slurring."
"What?!?"
"Slurring. Have you had your coffee yet?"
"Working on it now."
"Call me back when you've had your coffee."
Side note 1: There was no alcohol consumed this morning, or in the 36 hours prior
Side note 2: NO, I am NOT a morning person. If the world could choose to start about 10:30ish, I would totally be on board.
Side note 3: For some cosmic joke, I have two children who are wired to rise at 6:30 every day. Every. Single. Day.
Side note 4: I have no idea how I survived a 7am high school jazz band for 4 years.
If you're ever in my neighborhood, and you see a red-haired woman wandering the streets with extremely vertical hair and beverages clutched in both hands, just tell me to drink my coffee and point me towards home.
~Me
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