One Darn Good S’More

We had a couple of fires in our brand new fire pit the past week, but yesterday we had some friends over and cooked s’mores. Leslie had decided to purchase rectangular marshmallows to shake things up, you know, because s’mores are boring and unoriginal and need shaking up. Obviously I had some reservations about this whole marshmallow thing going into it; I was primarily concerned that one would be simply unable to properly cook a rectangular marshmallow, obtaining the perfect golden brown shell combined with an internal consistency that is less viscous than marshmallow crème, nevertheless I proceeded on. It is worth mentioning that I take s’more making very seriously, it is not enough to simply slap a well-cooked marshmallow onto a cold piece of chocolate sandwiched between two graham crackers; no, one has to properly prepare the chocolate by first placing it between the two graham crackers and then allowing it to partially melt by placing it over the fire during the marshmallow cook process. This can be easily done by using half of a campfire toaster (a device sort of like a hot dog roaster by designed to toast a slice of bread). Last night I made, quite possibly, the best s’more I have ever had in my entire life; it was perfect. I actually had to go inside and get a fork to clean up the remaining chocolate-marshmallow mix off of my plate. I’ve long since been convinced that manna will be some sort of ice cream based food; those beliefs have been shaken, it is entirely possible that the Israelites once enjoyed perfectly cooked s’mores.

While cooking s’mores yesterday evening I was pleased to discover that my son is already exhibiting a desire to climb trees. Now… if only I had a tree that he would be capable of climbing sometime before the age of 15. Granted, this probably does not bode well for my wife whenever she takes him to the park because a kid who wants to climb trees will begin to climb just about anything else in absence of a tree, say the outside of playground equipment for starters.FullSizeRender1

I had to turn on the heater again this week. It is the first week of June and I had to turn on the heater… granted it was mostly because Ayla couldn’t hack it in a 63 degree house, but she’s only five months old so I’m willing to cut her a little slack. Come winter though, she better be ready to dress warmly. I cannot entirely blame it on Ayla though; Jack has started running around the house without pants on and Leslie has been perfectly content to allow him to do so since we are now in the middle of the potty training phase. To be fair, it really was not our choice, Jack decided on his own that it was time to start using the toilet and has practically been potty training himself. Monday went a little like this:

Jack: Mother dearest, I have decided it is time I began using the facilities to rid my body of excess fluids.

Leslie: You need to go pee?

Jack: Of course, would you be able to facilitate me in removing my pants and this diaper?

Or at least I imagine that is how the conversation probably would have gone had he not been limited to the vocabulary of a young toddler. In all actuality it was probably just because he wanted to play with the toilet, to finally be allowed to pull the mystical lever which causes it to flush.

The summer time has taken some getting used to up here, pretty much everywhere else I have lived summer activities are already well under way. Youth camps are going on, VBS is happening, kids are outside playing in the sprinklers and enjoying the warm weather. School doesn’t even let out until next week up here and with me having to turn on the heater earlier this week you can guarantee that no one was outside playing in the sprinkler. I’m not entirely certain but I think summer might only last about four days in upstate New York.

Well, the kids are napping and Leslie is shopping and I have work that needs to be done. Specifically sanding down doors for whom the jams have started sticking, again, for what seems like the sixth time. I’m considering just getting rid of our doors and just hanging strings of beads from all the entrances to our rooms.

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