Last week I read the wonderfully warm and fuzzy quip: “Life is too short to waste it matching socks,” and thought it was sage advice, indeed.  I offered it up to my Varmint, who at the tender age of 11 is beginning to pay attention to things like that.

But my sweet Varmint spent quite a bit of time doing the exact opposite for her basketball game today.

Literally, she spent more time trying to find mismatched socks than she would have finding matched ones.  And I know some of her team mates did the same thing.

I totally get her strategy:  Baffle the opponent.  Totally understand.  No need to explain….

…..because that is the exact same strategy I use parenting.

Every year I put snow globes in my Varmint and Critter’s Valentine’s Baskets.

The same stinkin’ snow globes.

I think I bought them back in 2003 at CVS.  They were on sale after Valentine’s day for around a buck a piece.  (I’ll buy just about anything if it’s a buck.  All I have to do is think, “Meh, it’s a buck.  So what if I don’t need a plastic-handled ninnyhammer, it’s only a buck!”)

Every year I’ve lined the same two heart-shaped, red, plastic baskets with the same tissue paper, the same snow globes, and the same candy hearts. (No, seriously, the SAME candy hearts.  They never get eaten!)  And I’ve done it since they were toddlers.  I just add fresh chocolate, a new valentine card that I made, and maybe a toy or two.  And then I strew all the valentines we’ve exchanged over the years around the table so we can revisit our sweet valentine’s memories.

This year is the first year that the kids noticed the snow globes are the same as last year’s.   Varmint, upon discovering that I’ve been regifting the same snow globes for an entire decade was appalled that I was so cheap.  But hey, she didn’t notice for a decade!  Seriously, could it have meant so much to her?

I tried to point out that the sentiment of Valentine’s day has nothing to do with spending money on new toys, and everything to do with love and affection and loyalty.   I would think that tradition….like getting given the same gift year after year after year….might spark a little sentimentality!

She wasn’t buying it.

I didn’t have the courage to tell her about the candy hearts….

I promise this won’t take long.  I’m just going to cry on your shoulder a little bit.  Just go with it.

See these girls? Varmint and her friends from years ago…

Here they are just this weekend, learning to become self-sufficient.  Learning to fly.  Learning to navigate the dangerous rapids in the river of life.

Okay, okay.  They were just learning how to make egg noodles from scratch.  But dammit, egg noodles are in the river of life!

The point of this post is that instead of feeling joy at the growth and change in these beautiful souls, I find myself crying.  No, seriously.  I’m crying.

Time and I, we’re not on the best of terms.

We have issues.

Varmint and I are in Valentine’s Day Mode, Baby!

Tonight we made tarts for dessert!

Call me hokey.  Call me sappy.  Call me pre-diabetic.

Just don’t call me late for her yummy tarts!

“Fine,”  you say.  “Where are the finished products?”

er….

We ate ’em before we thought to take a picture.  We didn’t even take a picture of the pretty white glaze we zig-zagged all over them.

What do you expect from a woman who uses her husband’s cell phone to take her blog photos?

Amateur, I know.  I’m a complete amateur.

But…uh… I got to eat the tart.

Last weekend, I made some egg-noodles in preparation for a “Mama Boe Cooking Class” for Varmint’s friends.

I hopped out of bed before anyone else and, still in my ultra-feminine (not), 800-thread count (not), Egyptian Cotton (not) Pajamas, began what I like to call “An Un-holy Mess.”

And without a drop of common sense, I worked the noodle dough without my trusty apron.

Neither did I roll up my sleeves, apparently.

And frankly, I looked like my children….after art class….when they were freaking TODDLERS.

I didn’t miss a single scalloped ribbon edge on my jammies.  I hit every blooming part of my mid-section.  And the dishwasher…

And the kitchen rug…

I know, I know…planning, forethought, pro-action…all of these things are essential for any organized cook.   But let me ask you this…

When was the last time you pushed back from an amazing meal, rubbed your tummy, undid your belt, belched an un-Godly belch and exclaimed, “THAT was the MOST ORGANIZED meal I have ever eaten!”

The Defense rests.

If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with a mop….