I’m bulldozing all the non-marshmallow Lucky Charms into my mouth, leaving behind colorful islands of marshmallow. I like saving the best for last, just like how I eat pizza backwards, leaving the cheesiest and sauciest bites for the end.
Because Evelyn wants to be checked in on at bedtime, she’s put me on a ten-minute cycle: ten minutes of writing, ten minutes of prepping ingredients for Pop-Tarts, and then ten minutes of cuddling and mini-massaging her back.
What she doesn’t know is I’m also glancing at the Mariners game and feeling the sting of the replay showing Arozarena obviously out, overturning the safe stolen-base call.
I know that little six-year-old brain of hers. If she’s waiting for a massage, she will wait. No matter how tired she is after spending the entire day playing with Emma in the pool, on the dirt pile, and on bikes, she will wait. My assumption that she’ll fall asleep if I simply leave her in the dark and quiet of her room is almost certainly wrong. She’ll be waiting, scheming, and thinking.
So yeah, I finally have enough leftover sourdough starter to make Pop-Tarts.
The pictures of them online trigger nostalgic memories of having them as a kid, but now that I’m a grown-up and sugar is the devil, I don’t keep them in the house.
“But you keep Lucky Charms in your house,” you say.
Well, you got me. I do.
Uh oh, my ten minutes are up. Be back after a check-in on her and an ingredient mix-up.
She and I shared a few fettuccine Alfredo noodles before I ushered her to bed and lay beside her, giving a hand massage. The Mariners won 6–3, and I’m back on the couch wanting to squeeze in a movie in Spanish.
And I did.
But now bedtime is upon me.
I shall bid you adieu and hopefully post a picture tomorrow of my baking feats.
For now, take care.
Love,
Jaclynn