I came across this on BuzzFeed the other day.  I don’t have much patience for online reading, but this is a perfect way to start your weekend.

What’s the creepiest thing your kid has ever said to you?

As is his tradition every June, Derrick begged us not to buy him anything for Father’s Day.  This year, we finally decided to apease him.  So for Fathers Day 2013, it was all about the gullet.  And it was geeoood.

We started with breakfast in bed, courtesy Ethan and Mom.  That was some killer french toast Ethan dipped and flipped, if we do say so ourselves.  And he folded that upright napkin by himself.  Honest.

Watching his father eat, Ethan decided that “breakfast in bed is cool,” and asked for a turn.

His majesty was pleased.  And yes, I ended up serving him.  (I know…I know.)

Rachael wanted to make dinner for Dad as her gift, so after church she whipped up some Thai Cashew Chicken.  Talk about geeood.

Megan’s gift was dessert.  She’d made it and kept it hidden at Grandma’s, so we headed over there after dinner to wish Grandpa a Happy Fathers Day and sample her fare.  Just look at what this eleven-year old concocted for the crew:

And no, my friends, that is not the main dish!  It is a cupcake-brownie “burger” with frosting “lettuce” and “mustard”; sugar cookie “fries” with pink frosting “ketchup”, and tracing paper on which she printed a design to create the look of a restaurant wrapper.  She did the entire thing by herself (I only purchased ingredients) and it came out just like the photo on Pinterest.  We were seriously impressed.  And it tasted delicious–moist, sweet, and yummy.  This wasn’t just a peacock dessert that looked good.  It was good.  Or should I say:  geeoood.

Meg worked all day Saturday on her surprise.  All. Day.

Father was happy with the spoils, but we cannot decide if his reaction (see freaky smile above) was reward or punishment for our efforts.  Charming or creepy–what do you say?

Here’s what we say:  Happy Father’s Day to the most charming, creepy, brilliant and ridiculous man we all love.  Thank you for being the silly to our serious and the frosting to our fries.  We love you a million cheeseburgers.

and p.s.  I didn’t even plan this, but  look to the far right of this photo for bonus footage from Grandma Cindy.  Wow.  That combined with Derrick’s expression qualifies this for my next facebook cover photo.  You can’t make this stuff up.

Yesterday I was sitting in the doctors office, waiting my turn and flipping through the latest issue of People, I mean, Women’s Health. I came across an article by the beloved Dr. Oz who, in spite of being an Oprah disciple and writing that really boring diet book I tried to read five years ago, has always maintained my respect as an authority on womens’ health.  (I’m sure he’s relieved.)  I’ve long enjoyed reading his sound advice for optimum health and longevity:  Eat more almonds.  Eat less sugar.  Get more ginko.  Get more sleep.  His plan sounds so simple but alas, requires just enough effort on my part that I have contented myself with merely reading about it.  Implementation?  That’s another matter.  I’d like to think that I follow Dr. Oz academically.  It’s a valid position to take, and I fancy myself rather good at it.  

Until now.  Because in yesterday’s trashy mag health journal I discovered, at long last, a Dr. Oz suggestion that I can–that I do–follow, and not just in theory!  It’s called “Energy Management,” and it’s brilliant.  In this article, Dr. Oz explains how, though we often seek “time management” in our lives, what we ought to strive for is “energy management.” This means taking time do things that, though perhaps “unproductive,” are relaxing and

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enjoyable, and thus renew our energy level for unpleasant tasks that lie ahead.  The theory  is that if you are rested and recharged, you’ll sail through the sticky parts of your day as quickly as if you’d penciled in extra time to do them, the extra time having been spent on your fun, energy-renewing activities that will increase your overall efficiency.  Translation:  Naps are in, dishes out.  Oh my faithfuls, finally–a doc that’s speaking my language!

Summer is the perfect time for me to happen upon this psuedoscientific breakthrough.  Take today, for example.  I spent the better part of  9:30 am to 4:30 pm in the car, driving my kids to doctors appointments and basketball camps and violin lessons and activity day and lunch and errands somewhere in between.  (So glad we’re getting a break from the busyness of the school year.)  Around five ‘o clock, I looked around and decided that, after last week’s chaos, my life house needed a major cleanup, so I began to tidy and scrub and sanitize dutifully.  I slugged along for awhile, but then the heat and my laziness fatigue got the better of me.  I resisted resting at first, and then, like a flash of welcome lightening, the words energy management shot through my mind.  That’s right! I thought.  I MUST manage my energy!  I threw down the mop, picked up People Women’s Health, and flopped down on the sofa, determined to obey Doctor’s Orders.  I decided that, for once, I would follow such Sound Medical Advice to a tee and render myself immoveable from the couch for the rest of the night.  I would also avoid rising too early the next morning, lest I should waste precious energy I might need for important things later in the day, like yelling at teaching my children and watching West Wing while feigning ironing.

Change is in the air, my friends–I can feel it dancing atop the cool summer breeze, visiting me with a renewed sense of Self.  My lifelong sluggishness and forgetfulness will soon be a thing of the past, because–why didn’t I see this before?–it’s all been the result not of laziness or disorganization, but merely mismanaged energy.  What I’m really trying to say here is something that you may have heard me say once or twice before:  It’s Really Not My Fault.  See, for my entire life, I have been duped into thinking that I had to work to get work done.   Yeah, well, following that philosophy hasn’t gotten me anywhere besides driving a minivan and writing a crappy blog called just a stray junior mint.  But now, at last, there’s a physician out there who understands my pain and knows how to cure it:  Less mopping, more movies.  Less Walmart, more Target.  Less writing (too cerebral), more West Wing (just pseudocerebral enough.)

In fact, so solid does my new health platform seem, I’m thinking it applies to diet as well.  If less work and more play will help me Get My Work Done, then it follows that less edamame and more ricotta will help me Get My Weight Down.  Wouldn’t you agree?  Let’s discuss it over a piece of lasagna.  Right after my nap.

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