I’d hoped this quarantine era would at least give me more casual blog writing time. What it’s become is highly distracted work-from-home time, with work days that drone into the night. At least I know this because I change from day pajamas to night pajamas.
Just getting to this point is a victory, though.
The girls amazingly haven’t had any COVID questions, but there’s plenty in the vault from yesteryear. Hell, some of these questions have been around since the Spanish Flu epidemic. (Or, close to it.)
You can earn money on them. I’ve probably gathered $10 toward my stupendous PayPal balance by revealing my spending habits, taking quizzes about commercials that air during Live PD, and disclosing just how Hispanic I am.
Not overly, it turns out.
I mean, I rock the cuisine and will always retain my honey-roasted complexion. But these surveys ask if we speak Spanish in the home or watch Spanish-language programming. No and no. (Those words, luckily, are the same in English and Spanish.)
It’s instituted because, 100% of the time, winter, spring, summer or fall, at night and by day, from school, from training, from detention (no, they don’t actually get detention), the girls, each of them individually and together, enter my car and my day with two words:
If there’s something on the way home, we’ll stop. (As long as we haven’t slumped into overdraft yet.) Grace has begun a subliminal campaign (whispering QT, for QuikTrip and their slushies and donuts, when she gets in the car with me.)
Like, red in the Colorado flag, to symbolize the state’s red soil. Or the Mandala, to stand for eternal harmony. Or even a blue star on the side of a silver helmet. This stands for a team allergic to playoff victories.
Symbolism isn’t lost on me in the kitchen, either.
Here’s the recipe for my Brown and White Sugar Waffles. They’re representative of my children, actually, part brown like dad, half white, like mom. In perfect harmony, ironed to light and crispy perfection, with a hint of vanilla.
The younger the kid, the rawer (is that a word?) the call-out. I’ve navigated three daughters through the unfiltered years, without many stings. There was that day on the Barbie doll aisle with one daughter, who, noting Mattel’s plastic diversity, asked, “why would I want a black Barbie, dad?”
I sailed through that one with honesty, not damage control.
“I think little girls like to play with dolls, no matter what,” I explained. “But sometimes, we want toys that look like us. These dolls look like different people.” And it was true. I remember complaining that there were no Mexican kids on Peanuts.
You won’t believe me, given the playtime the Gastronomic Trinity – cheeseburgers, pizza, and tacos – gets here. But I’ve eaten Indian food for the first time recently, thanks to my millennial/liberal friends. Took a break from the burger joint and everything.
(They can keep their sushi, though, actually.)
I love some Pad Thai, also. I hadn’t had it in my first 43 years on earth. Sometimes, the sense of adventure in food comes without me knowing it. I accidentally ate alligator once. I ordered fish on a stick in a rural north Florida town.
You’ll see what I mean when you read the questions picked from the pool of Go Ask Daddys today (did you know there are more than 200 of them? And that I pick five at random each week with help from random.org?)
A cool thing that happens when I collect for 6 Words posts is that I get to hear from a lot of bloggers. Some are old favorites. Others are destined to become new favorites. Some come with some pretty cool ideas.
NJ from A Cookie Before Dinner invited me to take part in a question swap I’d read on other blogs, called #AskAwayFriday.
Friday is normally sacred ground for the kids’ questions. But I decided to give this one a shot. I’m usually the one who fires the questions at people, in line at Wal-mart, in emails to bloggers or even to embattled NFL head coaches.
Here are the questions NJ sent to me for the swap. Make sure you check out her answers to my questions, too.