SIMCHA FISHER

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It’s that ambitious time of year again, when people want to SORT THEIR LIVES OUT. We are all making plans, solid plans.

So, if you’re working on sorting your life out, would it help if I started using a link-up system again? It never really caught on, but I’d be happy to try again. I loved seeing what other families had for dinner. The original idea was not only to post pictures of my pork chops (I mean, who starts out with that for an original plan? People just fall into this kind of thing, all right? You have a camera, you have an empty corner in the garage, and someone says, “Hey, you know, here’s what you could do. . . ” Next thing you know, it’s a business model and you’re thinking of upgrading your drapes), but to give everyone a leg up in that lonely, lonely business of making a weekly meal plan.

Eh? Eh? Link-up, or just a reminder to share your menu for the week? Or just keep on posting pictures of my chops? I’m flexible.

Here’s what we had this week:

SATURDAY
Pizza hut pizza

On Saturday, we went to the ZOO! This is the first time we’ve been there when it wasn’t free day and thus packed to the gills with a gazillion other broke families. I was delighted to see that there is a whole lion in this zoo, and not just the top of a tuft of hair of the lion, which is what we’ve been able to see in other years through the crush of people. They also have entire giraffes, not just trees swishing with invisible giraffes inside them; and there is a whole gorilla, not just a fleeting gorilla butt.

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Paying admission! Who’d-a thunk it. Next you’ll be telling me some people pay more than $12.88 for a pair of shoes.

My husband’s wonderful sister from California was in town, so we dragged her along with us to the zoo, and then we dragged her to one of our region’s distinctive culinary showcases: Pizza Hut. Of course we just had to sample that classic New England specialty: Two Pepperoni And Two Olive. My husband ordered Coke, and the waitress asked if Pepsi was okay, and he said “yes.” And that’s how I knew it had been a long day.

***

SUNDAY
Blueberry Chicken Salad again

This was so yummy, and chicken was so on sale, I put it on the menu again while it’s still blueberry season.

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Still yummy! Here’s the recipe. I used bleu cheese instead of feta this time, and it was a much better match.

***

MONDAY
Hamburgers, chips

Nothing to report. Kids made supper while I was on the radio.

Oh, by the way, that was my next-to-last radio show with Mark Shea. Over a month ago, I had to regretfully let Mark know that when school started up, I wouldn’t be able to co-host anymore, because we’re just too crunched for time. So this coming Monday will be my last show (at least for now). You can still find podcasts of all of Mark’s previous shows, including the Mondays when I co-hosted. Also, the show is now available for Kindle, which should make it much easier to listen! And you can become a friend of the show, to help keep Breadbox Media on the air. Mark is such an enormously knowledgeable, articulate, and funny guy who is willing to talk about anything with anyone. Definitely worth your support.

On my last show this coming Monday, I will make a third and final attempt to tell the “got any duck food?” joke. It will be horrible.

***

TUESDAY
Copycat Wendy’s Power Mediterranean Chicken Salad

We have fast food once a week on our fabled shopping turn. A trip to Wendy’s is not as exciting for me as it is for the little guys, so I usually get a half salad, and I bring a can of seltzer from home. Wendy’s salads are actually quite good, fresh and interesting, not the limp, wizened, uninspired food you’d expect from a fast food place. My favorite is the Power Mediterranean Chicken Salad. Silly name, but a very tasty and filling meal.

I didn’t copy it exactly, but my version was:

Chopped kale,
spinach,
baby arugula,
grape tomatoes,
feta cheese,
black olives,
chick peas,
white beans,
roasted sunflower seeds,
chopped sweet peppers,
and chunks of grilled chicken.

I did buy some quinoa, which I happen to like, humph; but it felt too hot to cook anything else, so I skipped it, thus making the salad slightly less powerful. The Wendy’s version also includes hummus, which I put on the table but forgot to eat.

Normally, I serve meals like this in separate dishes, so people can pick and choose, but I was not feeling terribly accommodating on Tuesday, so I chunked it all into a giant bowl together.*

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I only kept the olives sequestered, in deference to my husband’s intense olive aversion; but he got home really late after a frustrating day of trying to squeeze some verifiable information out of a guy who spends a lot of time making amazing deals with classic car aficionados and also, as a side hobby, corresponding with the Better Business Bureau. I sort of mumblingly mentioned that there was lots of salad left over, with lots of nice things in it, such as nice chick peas. He said he was too tired to eat salad, and made some burgers instead. Fair enough.

*If you look closely, you’ll notice that this is actually a picture of Saturday’s blueberry salad, and not a copycat power mediterranean chicken salad at all. This is because I lost my iPad again, so my son took pictures with his phone, but then the rotten kid went to school. If I can reach him in time, I’ll add more pics in later, but I don’t have high hopes.

***

WEDNESDAY
Pork ribs, mashed potatoes, peas

Is there anything lovelier than a nicely-roasted pork rib reclining elegantly upon a plate? I argue that there is not.

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Notice the delicate breath of frost upon the peas. It was still hot, and I still didn’t feel like cooking anything. I did, however, take the peas out of the bag.

***

THURSDAY
Four large pizzas, carrots with hummus

My teenage son saw that I was having a stressful week, so he offered to try hummus. So now he has officially tried hummus. I think it made him tired. I appreciated the gesture.

***

FRIDAY
Pasta?

Okay, don’t forget to let me know your vote about future food posts! Link-up, or just a reminder to share menus in the comments, or just more pictures of my meaty thighs? I live to serve.

One thing I know: Christ is a gentleman, and will only come in where He is invited. He’s not fussy, and won’t hold back even if the invitation is brief, clumsy, distracted, cranky, dopey, sullen, or weird. But He does wait for the invitation; so there is no better way to start your day than by inviting Him into your day with a morning offering.

It’s worth praying a quick morning offering even if it’s the only prayer you say that day. I’ve written a few times about my lifelong struggle with depression, which was especially deep and dark in my teens and early 20s. I’ve mentioned that Catholics should seek help for psychological distress beyond just trying to “pray it away”; and I’ve written about how therapy (even secular therapy) can be life-changing, and so can anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs, and how help like this can bring you closer to God.

Nevertheless! During that deeply dark time, there was one short period when prayer, just simple prayer, made a difference, albeit a small one. I started saying, “Lord, I offer this day up to you” every morning. That’s it. And what happened?

I remember this time as being a sort of medium-gray, psychologically, as opposed to the usual inky black. If I had kept it up, who knows how much more darkness may have been driven away? Maybe I would have had the guts to ask for help from someone then, and I might have climbed out of that pit years sooner. As it was, I stopped making a morning offering after a while (because I’m an idiot), and down came the darkness again.

Lesson learned, eventually. I now make a morning offering whether I intend to follow up with more prayer or if I know I’m going to be too lazy or bratty or busy to do more. I make a morning offering if I wake up feeling great, or if I wake up feeling like breathing is pointless. I make a morning offering even if I’m not in a state of grace, because it may help me to accept the grace I need to accept the grace I need to get back in a state of grace. (Nope, not a typo.)

Sometimes I pray my favorite “let’s do this” prayer from the Psalms; sometimes it’s just a simple, “Lord, I offer this day up to you.” And sometimes I forget to do it in the morning, so I say it later in the day, as long as there’s some day left.

The beginning of the school year is a wonderful time to establish the habit of making a morning offering. You can do it with your kids, or you can just remind them to do it privately (this is what my kids said they would prefer). You can write it on a piece of paper and tape it to the front door, so it’s the last thing your family members see when they leave the house. You can make time to say the morning prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours. (Daria Sockey keeps you updated; just click on the right sidebar where it says “morning prayer.”)

The only wrong way to do it is to skip it.

I asked my friends on social media to share their favorite morning prayers. Here they are, in no particular order — or you can always just make up your own.

***

1. Oh my God, I offer thee this day
All I shall think or do or say,
Uniting it with what was done
On earth by Jesus Christ thy son.

2. Holy Mary, I want to belong to you. I give you my whole self and all the good things I do: at home, at school, in church, on the playground. My mother, I am all yours and all I do belongs to you. Amen.

3. St. Zelie prayed this with her children (including St. Therese):
My God, I give you my heart. Please accept it so that no creature, but you alone, my good Jesus, may possess it.

4. “O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer You all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings of this day for all the intentions of Your Sacred Heart, in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world, in reparation for all my sins, for the intentions of all my friends and relatives, and in particular for the intentions of the Holy Father.”

5. “Heavenly Father I offer you this day, all that I think and do and say. Uniting it with what was done, by Jesus Christ your only Son. Amen.”

6. “Direct, O Lord, all our actions by Thy holy inspiration and carry them along by Thy gracious assistance, so that every prayer and work of ours may begin in Thee and by Thee be happily ended, through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.”

7. On the recommendation of a priest, when life was overwhelming and more and more prayer wasn’t helping: a simple “Please God help me through today” in the morning and “Thank you, Jesus, for the graces that got me through today.”

8. John Paul II’s offering to Our Lady: “I belong to you entirely. All that I possess is yours. I take you into everything that is mine. Give me your heart, Mary.”

9. Jacob Astley’s battlefield prayer: “O Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not forget me.”

10. Prayer to St. Joseph:

“Oh, St. Joseph, whose protection is so great, so strong, so prompt before the throne of God. I place in you all my interests and desires. Oh, St. Joseph, do assist me by your powerful intercession, and obtain for me from your divine Son all spiritual blessings, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. So that, having engaged here below your heavenly power, I may offer my thanksgiving and homage to the most loving of Fathers.

Oh, St. Joseph, I never weary of contemplating you, and Jesus asleep in your arms; I dare not approach while He reposes near your heart. Press Him in my name and kiss His fine head for me and ask him to return the Kiss when I draw my dying breath. St. Joseph, Patron of departing souls – Pray for me.”

11.Suscipe prayer of St. Ignatius of Loyola:

“Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.”

12. “Good morning, God. Thank you for today. Bless my work and help me to think of you.”

13. “Hi, God.”

14. The morning prayer of Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow:

“O Lord,
grant that I may meet the coming day in peace.
Help me in all things
to rely upon Thy Holy Will.
In every hour of the day,
reveal Thy will to me.
Bless my dealings with all who surround me.
Teach me to treat all that comes to me
throughout the day with peace of soul,
and with the firm conviction that Thy will governs all.
In all my deeds and words,
guide my thoughts and feelings.
In unforeseen events, let me not forget
that all are sent by Thee.
Teach me to act firmly and wisely,
without embittering and embarrassing others.
Give me the strength to bear the fatigue
of the coming day with all that it shall bring.
Direct my will.
Teach me to pray.
Pray Thou Thyself in me.
Amen.

15. From St. Francis de Sales via The Catholic Gentleman:

The act of getting out of bed represents … the profound reality of the resurrection and that gift of life beyond death to which we are ultimately called. To get into the habit of seeing each day as a mini resurrection is to cultivate a thor­oughly Christian attitude toward our earthly existence. Thus, [de Sales] suggests that when we awake:

O dead, arise and come to judgment. (cf. Eph. 5:14)

Or we may say with Job:

I know that my Redeemer lives, and that on the last day I will rise again. My God, grant that this be to eternal glory; this hope rests in my inmost being. (cf. Job 19:25-26)

***

There! That ought to get you started.

Image: Michael McCollough via Flickr (Creative Commons)

The department stores have been ready since the middle of May. The clothing catalogues have been ready since early June. The teachers have been ready for close to 72 hours now.  How about you, mom? Are you ready for BACK-TO-SCHOOL?

Here’s a quick quiz to find out how much gin to buy:

***

Clothing!

(a) Your school doesn’t require uniforms, but you do. Your children’s outfits for the next three months are chosen, monogrammed, pressed, and shrink-wrapped (with alternates for unexpected nippy weather) in a special digitized wardrobe that automatically yanks garments out of rotation if anyone in (ugh) public school is seen wearing them.

(b) Each kid owns enough clothes to go all week without wearing anything with holes, obvious stains, or beer slogans.

(c) You really need to stop stalling and get the winter clothes sorted and put away.

Lunches!

(a) You spent the summer perfecting the spreadsheets that tell you when to place bulk orders at Whole Foods so that the everyday staple pantry items (quinoa, bulgur, kefir, quingur, bulfir, and kefoa, which is pronounced “feh”) dovetail with the seasonal produce you expect to harvest from your garden, which you water using barrels that collect your hot yoga sweat, which, not to brag, is quite organic.

(b) You have a general idea of what your kids like to eat, and you try to pack it for lunch. If they don’t gobble up every bit of their packed lunch, they can always fill up on PBJ when they get home.

(c) You give yourself a gold star every time the school doesn’t send home a note saying, “Braedonica only had a pickled cocktail onion and a baggie of dog food in her lunch again. Please remember nutrition matters for young brains, sadface!”
By gold star, you mean “martini.”

Transportation!

(a) Yes, there is a bus that will pick up your child and bring her home, but, chérie, yellow is just not her color. So you’ve hired a dedicated Uber driver for the morning and afternoon commute. He only drives an Audi, though, and that’s how it’s going to stay until a certain little offspring nudges that GPA up above 3.8.

(b) You’re going to be the mom waiting at the bus stop in a robe, or occasionally that mom driving frantically to school in a robe. So you’re not morning people, so big deal.

(c) You are seriously considering buying an RV and just living behind the swingset until next June, because you’re really, really, really not morning people.

Homework!

(a) Per the training your child has received since he was at four months’ gestation, he doesn’t even want to play, snack, rest, or goof off until homework is completed, double-checked, initialed by both parents, autoclaved, and stowed away safely in the lightweight titanium binder etched with “For Your Consideration, Magister.”

(b) Your kids know they are expected to keep up with their work. They also know that Mom will forget to ask if they have homework half the time, and they only really have to do it when Daddy comes home before bedtime, because Daddy Always Remembers. Doing a little over half their homework earns them a solid C-, which is their version of the American dream.

(c) You know what we do for homework around here? We endure. That’s what we do for homework. Initial that, pal.

Extracurricular activities!

(a) It’s so hard, isn’t it? You beg and plead for the children to just relax and be kids, or at least choose an after-school club that is just plain fun, but every year it’s the same thing: “Motherrr, we simply can’t turn our backs on our commitment to fostering functional STEM literacy among the unwed pregnant cat population. Be the change you wish to see, Motherrr!” they say.
You worry, but you’re also proud. So proud.

(b) Each kid gets to do one thing, and that’s it. There’s only so much extra driving and extra check-writing you can stand.

(c) Extracurricular? As in besides school? They want us to do a whole other thing? Does weeping quietly in a corner count as extracurricular? Because we can do that.

Traditional Beginning-of-the-year Teacher Gift Ideas!

(a) Wait, what?
(b) Come on.
(c) Kill me.

***

ANSWER KEY:

If you answered mostly (a), you are so ready, it’s already next year, so why not stay home and read back issues of GOOP by the light of your own intense awesomeness?
If you answered mostly (b), you are like 90% of the population, so relax.
If you answered mostly (c), you can hang around with my awful kids, and we’ll all feel better.

***

Image: Bernd Moehle (Flickr: School bus) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

I’m just asking for . . . reasons. I’ve been to a lot of retreats and conferences and mom’s days out, and there are always some things I love, some things I don’t care about, and some things that should be chased away by an angel holding little, pink, pearl-handled revolver and a bottle of Febreze.

So imagine, if you will, a six- to eight-hour event for a group of maybe a hundred or so Catholic women. How would you like to spend your time? What would make you think, “Why did I just pay for this?” What’s something amazing that would turn an okayish event into something you would rave about? How much can you imagine paying for such an event?

Type of food, style of food service, prayers, group activities, talks, sacraments, music, vendors, type of venue, scheduled events, unscheduled time, amenities, giveaways, hammocks and cabana boys — I’d love to hear about anything and everything that would make a difference to you. Tell, tell!

(Photo is of my husband and Corrie at a women’s conference in Syracuse last fall. Pretty safe to say that their favorite part was when Mama finally got off the stage.)

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SATURDAY
BBQ at Nana’s house

We had insane-o weather on Saturday — huge gusting winds, spiky hail the size of golf balls, and thunder and rainbows, all at the same time — so we decided not to grill outside. My mother-in-law started making dinner and then had to run out, so she asked my husband to finish cooking. There were hamburgers, marinated steak on skewers, and sausages, and a big pot of homemade tomato sauce. An embarrassment of meats! So he started cooking the burgers and the steak, and put the sausages into the sauce, where they simmered away, making everything all nice and sausagey.

Then she comes back, and guess what? The sausages were for sandwiches, and the sauce was for my vegan brother-in-law, who was bringing pasta.

So my husband had to go out in the rain and the thunder and the wind, and get some more . . .  you know, it seemed funnier at the time. To me. Some people did not find it funny even at the time.We were watching Flash Gordon again, too. If someone can explain to me why this has become the summer when we must watch Flash Gordon all the time, I’d be grateful.

***

SUNDAY
Cuban pork, fried onions, cheese and guava on crackers, rice, frijoles, tres leches cake

My friend Elizabeth took a trip to her childhood home of Florida and sent me a gorgeous carton full of foods we normally can’t handle this side of the Mason Dixon line. She also made up a booklet of family recipes, including Pernil o Peirna Asada.

Well, we could have feasted on the smell alone. This dish was heavenly. You have to start it the night before, but it’s easy-peasy-Cuban-squeezy. My ten-year-old daughter did the stabbing and salt-rubbing part. I can lend her to you if you want to make this recipe. She’s tops at stabbing [looks behind shoulder nervously]. Ten is a tricky age.

Here’s the recipe:

-4-5 pork shoulder or ham that is uncured and uncooked (skin on if possible)
-2 cups sour orange, or fresh lemon or lime juice
-1 bay leaf
-2 tsp dried oregano
-2 tsp cumin powder
-2 Tbs salt
-1/2 tsp black pepper
-20 cloves fresh garlic (yes, 20)
-2 large onions sliced in thin rounds
-1/2 cup of roast dripping
-1/2 cup reserved garlic and citrus sauce

The night before, stab pork all over. Rub salt into holes, all over. May need more than 2 Tbs.

After pork is salted, put citrus, garlic cloves, and seasonings into a blender and combine. This is the mojo. Pour off 1 cup and reserve. Pour remaining mojo over pork and work it into the meat and the holes. Sprinkle with more of the spices listed above, cover, and refrigerate overnight.

Let pork stand at room temperature for an hour before roasting. Roast at 325 for 3-4 hours or more (or less!). Do not cover with foil! Should be roasted, not steamed. You can very loosely tent if necessary. Baste hourly with 1/2 cup of the reserved mojo. It’s done when the juices run clear.

When roast is done, combine 1/2 cup of the drippings with the other 1/2 cup of reserved mojo, and sautee with the onions.

Slice meat and pour onions and juice over roast. Serve with black beans, rice, and plantains. 

Okay, confession time. I couldn’t find pork shoulder, so I just grabbed the biggest piece of pork I could find. It had no bone and cooked up way faster than I was expecting; so if you’re a recipe scofflaw like me, keep an eye on that meat! It’s so hard to break the habits from our super-poor days, when “make sure you choose the right cut of meat” sounded like it was on the same fancy pants level as “you’ll want to eat this dish with a soundtrack of waves crashing, to bring out the natural flavor of the oysters.” Anyway, wrong cut and all, it was super delicious.

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I also bought some plantains to fry up, which I’ve done before, but it was too damn hot.

We also had water crackers with cream cheese and guava paste. The four-year-old watched with towering suspicion as I put these together, and then ran around the house informing everyone that Mama was serving globber for dinner. Guava. Guava. Not globber. Savages.

Dessert was a tres leches cake that I threw together in about six minutes the night before, while I was half in the bag.*

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The savages loved it.
*bag of staying up late. I would never.

***

MONDAY
Chicken nuggets, chips, broccoli and hummus

I was planning to make Cuban sandwiches (grilled sandwiches with layers of sliced pork, ham, cheese, and pickles with mustard) with the leftover pork, but guess what? There warn’t none. It was et.

We talked a little bit about picking some of that lettuce from the garden for a salad, but it’s all the way on the other side of the yard. I can either be virtuous enough to eat salad, or virtuous enough to plant a garden, but not both. You’re welcome, neighborhood rabbits.

***

TUESDAY
Thai sweet bowls with rice and red noodles, mangoes

I’ve seen this episode of Portlandia about four times:

and it was pretty funny (“Show people dying!”), but I couldn’t stop thinking about those Thai Sweet Bowls (although when my son asked what was for dinner, he groaned, “Ohhh, it’s something ending in ‘bowls!'”  What does that even mean? Savages.)

Here’s the Thai sweet BOWL recipe I chose. Would they eat anything like this in or near Thailand? No idea. It’s rice topped with cashews, cilantro, scallions, and chicken cooked in soy sauce, and covered with a creamy coconut curry made with fresh mangoes. I didn’t even bother looking for clover sprouts.

I thought it was a swell dish.

[img attachment=”116619″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”thai sweet bowl” /]

Per the comments, I reduced the sugar by more than half, and that was still extremely sweet. It went together very easily, and you could make all the elements ahead of time and then put them together right before dinner.

I also bought some kind of dark red rice noodles at Aldi (it was called “Taste of Thai” or “Dip Your Nippers into Thailand” or “Thai One On” or something), and they were the worst, just the worst. Glad I made rice. Aldi ethnic food has the disturbing tendency to taste faintly bus insistently German, no matter what it is. It’s like they have all the earnest good will in the world, and they’re going to follow the hell out of this Mexican recipe or this Chinese dish, but then . . . something happens, and it’s the wurst, just the wurst. ♪♫Bring your own bags über alles. ♪♫

***

WEDNESDAY
Hot dogs, fries

I don’t remember Wednesday at all.

***

THURSDAY
Grilled chicken thighs, weirdoslaw, frozen rolls

I had to run errands, so I asked my daughter to make some of her lovely coleslaw. It turned out we were out of (or she couldn’t find) many of the ingredients, so she made up this recipe:

Shredded cabbage, a cup of plain, fat-free yogurt, a cup of sugar, 1.5 cups white vinegar, juice of one orange plus some orange zest.  It’s snappy! Very sweet and citrusy. I kept thinking, “Maybe if you added grapes, and apples, and other fruits . . . and then took out the cabbage . . . ”

The rolls, I took three bags of rolls out of the freezer, realized I didn’t have time to thaw them before baking, and then realized that they must have already thawed at some point. They were all in one big slab, and then they re-froze that way. So I put them back in the freezer. There, there, rolls. We’ll talk about this later.

***

FRIDAY
Tuna noodle

Today is my husband’s last day at his current job, so the plan is for me to stop at the school at pick up the recycling, bring it to the dump, go home, pick up my daughter, bring her to the ear doctor, bring her home, pick up the boys at day camp, bring them home and pick up my other daughter, drop both daughters off at work, and then drive to my husband’s office in the next state so I can finally see his office for the first time! Then we’ll have a beer, and go home. And pick up my other daughter from work. I may settle for just imagining my husband’s office.  I hear it’s full of globber.

Last year, I did a Geek-themed back-to-school feature, and that was fun (although there was some eminently geeky squabbling over whether some items were truly geeky, or more nerdy, or shading into dorkiness, or whether they had crossed so far into the mainstream that they were the equivalent of Chrissy Teigen wearing glasses; i.e., really not geeky at all.

So this year, I’m attacking the problem from a different angle. Never mind the geeks; how does one shop for Goofus and Gallant?

Gallant is a classy guy, and expects all school supplies to be both well-made and practical, and in good taste; and it’s okay if they’re a little bit on the pricey side, because that child takes both school and personal dignity seriously.

But Goofus is just basically a rat boy or rat girl, who is openly proud of making the math teacher cry; and there will be no peace at home until mom orders a cartload of ridiculous office supplies to fend off her guilt from hiding from the little booger all summer. Here’s how you do . . .

BACK-TO-SCHOOL SHOPPING FOR GOOFUS AND GALLANT!

Let’s start with the locker.

Gallant wants a locker that sets the tone for a marvellous day. Gently twist the combination, swing open the door, and voila: a little alcove of refinement amid the hustle and bedlam of the hallway. Oh yes, there’s Locker Wallpaper – assorted colors and patterns, $19.99

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Because something tells me Gallant gets shoved into his locker a lot, so he might as well have something nice to look at while he’s waiting for the custodian to rescue him again.

Your standard issue Goofus, however, is going to need something a little different with which to decorate his locker. Check it out:

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500 biohazard stickers, $6.99. These are not novelty biohazard stickers, they are just biohazard stickers. If you have sons age 12 and over, 500 may not be enough.

Speaking of biohazards, think on this: Wasn’t it Flaubert who had a theory about the power of scents? Why not send your little lovely off to face the world armed with a different itsy bitsy little scented candle to make their locker or desk smell pleasant. You can change up the aroma every month with a mixed bag of ten scented votive candles from Yankee Candle, which, in my experience (I spent an entire summer working at a gift shop) has the most penetrating, insistent scent:

[img attachment=”116362″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 4.38.03 PM” /]

Goofus, on the other hand, would probably get more use out of 72 individually wrapped fahrt bohmbs for under $10:

[img attachment=”116427″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 10.18.01 PM” /]

I know, only 72. Maybe you should put this item on subscription.
Oh, this seems like as good a time as any to tell you about this browser extension called Honey.

[img attachment=”116428″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 10.21.09 PM” /]

Once you install it, this cute little “h” quietly follows you around the internet and shows up when you’re buying stuff, and it tells you if you’ve found a good deal, or if you’re being a tremendous sucker and can save money somewhere else. Very unintrusive, occasionally super useful. Like when you’re . . . shopping for 72 fahrt bohmbs for under $10.

Onward and upward!

Feast your peepers on this onward-and-upward-style Leather Pencil Pouch, $19.99, side view:

[img attachment=”116410″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 10.01.43 PM” /]

Several of my friends assure me that this is the pencil pouch to have. It comes in black or brown and is elegant, versatile, and durable, and will stay with your child in and out of years because it has a homing device* for when the little peabrain leaves it on the bus again.

*Not really. But it’s very nice!

And here is one that is, on the other hand, shaped like a banana.

[img attachment=”116409″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.57.42 PM” /]

Me not going to lie to you: me not think this would fit an awful lot of pencils in it. But, it is shaped like a banana. $6.97.

Bonus idea: Pencil case shaped like a fish, and the inside of it looks like a fish inside. Boy, oh boy.

Pencils! You will need pencils. Compliment Gallant’s excellent penmanship and studious diagrams with a top-of-the-line Pentel P205 Gilded Series Mechanical Pencil for Drafting:

[img attachment=”116228″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-16 at 3.05.53 PM” /]

This is, according to my Gallant-type friends, “the queen of mechanical drafting pencils,” and very lovely she is. Comes in your choice of colors, with a gift box. There’s also a less deluxe version (non gilded, no box) for $10 less.

Or p’raps you’d rather just take that fancy pencil and let your natural stabbiness shine through with something a little more cheapski and in bad tasteski like the Dead Fred Pencil Holder:

[img attachment=”116396″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 8.53.30 PM” /]

$2.88. And check out the dead man’s book mark, the rubber band mummy, and Splat Stan the tragic coaster. I do not approve of Stress Ball Paul, though. I ain’t squeezing that.

But fountain pens! Oh, how I love fountain pens. If you have a spare $55 lying around, gathering dust, maybe throw it at the TWSBI Diamond 580 Fountain Pen with EF nib.

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little staples in
With gently smiling jaws, $9.95.

Pair it with this dragon head stapler (uses standard-sized staples), and let them fight it out. $15.99:

[img attachment=”116398″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.04.28 PM” /]

Is it okay with you all if I drop the Goofus and Gallant/classy and silly thing and just post a bunch of awesome stuff? Whew.

LOOK AT THIS CHAMELEON TAPE DISPENSER.
THIS IS WHY GOD MADE CHAMELEONS LOOK LIKE THAT.

[img attachment=”116395″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 8.49.25 PM” /]

Now you know! And it changes color when you touch it! $25.95.

That famous picture of Albert Einstein making that goofy face is ju-u-u-u-u-u-ust about all worn out, but before it goes, here’s something:

[img attachment=”116397″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 8.59.43 PM” /]

$10.17, but it’s not a toy. So only put paper clips on Einstein’s head without having fun.

Whether there is a uniform or not, most schools frown on wearing underwear on the outside like Superman and Batman do. But that shouldn’t stop your kid from being a secret superhero on the inside:

[img attachment=”116438″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 8.36.01 AM” /]

No kidding, this could actually help a nervous kid through a tough day if everyone thinks he’s mild-mannered elementary school student Nerdy McPunchmyface . . . but he knows he has a secret identity.

And, this being 2016, superhero underpants come in adult sizes, too, for men and women; but I’m going to let you do that particular internet search yourself.

Next: Gorgeous little bags and clutches. My friend Elisa, who is the manic genius and agile fingers behind Door Number 9, has an amazing variety of hand-made pouches, bags, and wallets in various sizes. Maybe your kid can’t stop raving about Hamilton? Here’s a gorgeous little fully-lined zip clutch in the shape of a letter to Eliza Hamilton:

[img attachment=”116442″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 9.19.10 AM” /]

Best of wives and best of women. Ahhhh. Or here’s a smaller zippered pouch for a kid who knows his chemistry:

[img attachment=”116443″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 9.24.46 AM” /]

Heavy metals, ha! We love Door Number 9’s lovingly handmade, awesomely thinky products, including religious goods, badge holders, tea wallets, jewelry, original art, and more.

So, backpacks have gotten weird, huh? Here’s one I haven’t seen anyone toting around:

[img attachment=”116446″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 10.12.35 AM” /]

Blocky! There are also, of course, backpacks studded with bubbles,

[img attachment=”116448″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 10.25.23 AM” /]

backpacks to transform you into a metallic turtle bristling with spikes, and of course a Pangolin backpack made of recycled innertubes:

[img attachment=”116447″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-18 at 10.21.35 AM” /]

Lest you should worry you’re not getting your $240’s worth of value from this backpack as seen on X-MEN: Days of Future Passed, one reviewer says he did fit a medium-sized watermelon inside.

Back in the sane world, I want everyone to have this fish backpack. EVERYONE.

[img attachment=”116399″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.14.08 PM” /]

$17.99, and you can choose tons of colors. Looks like it doesn’t hold very much, but how can you be gloomy with a flashy, happy, fishy coming along to school with you?

Speaking of tons of color, I can’t believe you were thinking of sending your child off to school without a Zen Chicken Meditative Coloring Book.

[img attachment=”116400″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.21.56 PM” /]

$10.26, you monster.

You already planned, however, to stock up on bull erasers, $5.49 each:

[img attachment=”116401″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.34.16 PM” /]

Doesn’t this seem like the best possible way to rub out your mistakes? Or, for goodness sakes, a handful of these peanut erasers, $3.50 the set.

[img attachment=”116402″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 9.37.58 PM” /]

Did I just find myself scrolling down to the bottom of the page to find out if they were nut-free? Yes, I did. And that’s the most back-to-school thing of all.

Maybe your kids will luck out and get one of those teachers who insists that kids use silent hand signals — two fingers, quiet coyote, and so on — to let the teacher know what it is that they want before they even speak. So, this is needful:

[img attachment=”116429″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 10.49.44 PM” /]

Me, teacher! Call on me! $13.99. Call on me!

And last but not yep: Door Number 9 just listed a flock of hilarious alien earrings like this pair:

[img attachment=”116430″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-17 at 11.12.53 PM” /]

These kill me. Back to school, yep yep yep!

At least eleven non-famous people are dead, and 40,000 more have had their homes wrecked or damaged. That’s 39,999 Americans who aren’t celebrities, so their very real tragedies simply didn’t rate as headline news.

This is nothing new. When the Titanic sank — arguably the first news story to get immediate, international coverage — newspapers ran large photos of the Astors, who were aboard, and only later began to report how many third-class passengers were lost because there weren’t enough lifeboats. It will always be this way: Big names sell headlines, and the suffering of nobodies gets a bored shrug, and we move on to whether or not a gymnast stuck her landing, whether Britney Spears looks more toned than last time we saw her, and whether Donald Trump is still Donald Trump.

It’s frustrating, even sickening, when the news gets covered this way. Here’s what we can do in response.

Read the rest at the Register.

***

Image: The National Guard via Flickr (licensed)

Sad person wrote sadly about sadness of summer, and the existential desire to prove that we love and are beloved as summer draws to an end. But it wasn’t just all moping and maundering and wallowing in the exquisite bathos of that squooshy spot where memory meets love.

No, there was also . . . a lot of TV-watching. Specifically, some of my older kids really got into the hilarious show 30 Rock (and yes, we skipped a few of the more inapwopwo episodes).

For some reason, one scene that really hit home was the one where uberhick Kenneth invents a new game show, and as he tries to sell it to the network, he accidentally wields a powerful bargaining chip by implying that he’s in talks with [CBS CEO Les] Moonves. In fact, Kenneth is referring to Moonvest, a batty homeless guy sporting a vest with moons on it.

In what is obviously part of a daily ritual, Moonvest says . . . well, see for yourself:

Okay, so what happened next is that, for some reason, we taught the baby to do this:

As always, I am unable to judge the severity of my actions.

We also went to the fair, okay? And we toasted marshmallows one time.

“Mama, I had a dream about you last night.”

Oh, I heard that collective gasp of horror from all the other Mamas of kids who dream. When kids dream about you, somehow you’re never at your best. Last night, for instance, my daughter dreamt that she wanted to go hang gliding, but I said “no.” Then we went to the fair, and she wanted to go on a ride, but I said “no.” Then we all adjourned to the cafeteria, where she asked for dessert, and I said — guess what? — “no.” And then I said “yes” to her sisters! What is the matter with me? I mean, besides that it wasn’t actually me, it was just her little squirrel brain firing off in her sleep.

Well, I’ll tell you. I wake up in the morning, and before I even let my tootsies touch the floor, I think, “In what way can I disappoint, frustrate, thwart, defraud, or otherwise let down my family, so that I will be forever associated in their minds with great suffering?” And I’m not allowed to have any coffee until I have a plan.

The other day, I went shopping.I made my shopping list taking into account the needs, desires, tastes, and schedules of twelve people, plus a dog, a fish, two parakeets, a mouse, and two hamsters. Shopping took three-and-a-half hours, as it always does, because I go to Walmart, and then my shopping buddy and I get lunch, then we hit the dollar store if they’re still young enough to find it thrilling, and then we go to the cheap supermarket and fill two carts with food and treats, and then we go to the real supermarket to pick up whatever we couldn’t find elsewhere. I also got gas, went to the bank, stopped at the post office, and nipped into that awesome toy store that is closing, so I could find Christmas presents at a discount for the kids. And we drove around for a while looking for a power station, in case any Pokewhatevers were lurking about.

But I forgot my shopping list at home. However, I remembered everything on it.

Almost.

I chose, bought, bagged, loaded into the car, unloaded from the car, and put away approximately 426 useful and desirable and reasonably-priced items, but I forgot soap.

So my husband mentioned it the next day, and I apologized, but I forgot to pick some up again. This went on for a few days. He would mention it; I would promise to buy some, but then forget. Finally, in desperation, he went to the store himself and attempted to buy some soap.

I know. Someone should make a daytime movie special about us: She Didn’t Buy Soap  . . . Twice. 

So the poor fellow gets to the counter with his four bars of Ivory, and the cashier looks at him from under his S-Mart visor, one canny eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Buying soap, eh?” the fellow says. My husband admits that he is.

“Ain’t that a weddin’ ring on your finger?” continues the inquest. Sotto voce, my husband acknowledges that he is, indeed, married.

Pause.

“She run off or sumpin’?”

A single tear of shame trickles down my husband’s craggy, careworn face. No, she did not run off, but she might as well have, mightn’t she’ve? Leaving the house soaplessly forlorn, like some kind of heartless amalgam of Medea, Mrs. Portnoy, and whoever made Dina Lohan be that way.

My husband, who, at this point, is already suffering mightily under the privation of soap for 36 hours and counting, cracks under pressure and begins to babble any lie that comes to mind:

“It’s not her fault! She has a shattered pelvis and two kinds of face cancer! She tried to order soap from her hospital bed, but the internet went down because of that multiple helicopter crash! We usually have lots of soap, because she gets everything eleven weeks in advance, but she was technically dead for four minutes, and the surgeon said I should let her re-e-e-e-e-e-e-essssst. . . ”

Unable to bear the searing scorn of the other customers who would never forget the disgraceful spectacle of a man forced to buy his own soap, he fled out of the store, clutching the bundle of Ivory to his chest, flinging wads of dollar bills behind him in his agony.

The next day, I woke up surrounded by my family. They proffered Champagne-colored roses, home-baked pastries, and a fragrant mug of coffee on a silver tray. I began to rise, but in a single voice, they insisted that I remain in bed, because of all the things I do for them.

Their faces were bathed in rainbows through the prism of my grateful tears. “My loves,” I said, “My dearest loves, I feel so appreciated, and that scone smells heavenly. Just let me get up and visit the restroom, and wash my hands. If someone would just hand me the soap . . . ”

And then I woke up. Hey, mothers have dreams, too.