Brownies, what I didn’t buy and those ladies are at war again



These are not my brownies.

My brownies are never square.  They are not rectangular.  They are all irregular and misshapen.

So when I volunteered to bring brownies to a potluck the other night, MFP was shocked.

I couldn’t believe it myself.

I can run.  I can take pictures.  I can write stories.  I can perform minor surgeries on  hangnails. I can persuade a stubborn 9-year-old to clean his room (Jedi mind tricks are my specialty). 

I cannot, for the life of me, bake brownies that post-slicing, fit into any categorical geometric shape.

But I really thought that  if I paid closer attention to the directions this time, and if I let the brownies cool off properly, that I would have better luck. (Definition of insanity anyone?)

I didn’t.  The brownies cooled for an hour and a half and I still couldn’t get them to slice properly.  I frowned as I lined them up on a tray and covered them in saran wrap.

Since I didn’t have time to throw anything else together either, I raided MFP’s beer and wine stash, filled an old racing swag bag to the top with “spirits” and decided to leave my “brownies” in the backseat of our car.  My hope was that with enough alcohol present, no one would notice that I “accidentally” left my dessert in the car.

However, by the end of the night, after he was lubricated with said “spirits,”  MFP snuck out to the car and brought my brownies inside.

“What are those?” someone asked.

“Brownies!”  someone said.

A few were eaten.  Sadly there were plenty left over to bring home and fuel more chaos in our household.

The kids bounced off of the walls for most of the day yesterday, because feeding them brownies is pretty much like lighting a match to a gas line that has been open for a few days.

But I put a few aside, and today, my rest day, I have been enjoying them immensely, as misshapen as they are.



I would say my favorite indulgences lately have been brownies and Goldfish crackers.

I know we are suppose to be healthy eaters, and for the most part I am.

This morning I read this story about a vegetarian who is running her first marathon, and is struggling to get enough to eat to fuel her training.

Go get yourself some Goldfish crackers and misshapen brownies sistah!





The above compression sets are beginning to grow on me, though I don’t think I would wear them alone.

And it was equally difficult to not add this Nike sweatshirt, whose neckline and color I adore, to my collection of slob gear. 


Speaking of sweatshirts, most of us SAHM types probably wear them way too often.  No one can argue with that.

But I find it fascinating that the “mommy wars” have moved from whether you work or stay at home, to whether you decide to have kids or not.

Some are arguing that NOT having kids is selfish, others are saying that having kids is selfish.

You can read Kathleen Parker’s rant here, and Kristen Tsetsi’s rebuttal here.

My opinion is that if you decide to have kids, you better be sure you have access to a therapist,  pharmacist, or get a good pair of running shoes, because this stuff (I’d choose another word here if I wasn’t worried about offending anyone) is hard work. 

That’s just my two cents.

Off to eat another brownie…

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