The Saving Money Dance

On a cool December evening about 15 years ago, a friend came to retrieve the washing machine he'd loaned us for our first ten months in the house. Rather than waiting for my dad to arrive with the furniture dolly, my friend and fiancee (now husband) took it upon themselves to carry it down the stairs. It didn't end well.

Bad Idea Pants. They wear them well. 

Fortunately, my friend was wearing work boots, because the washing machine hit his ankle. He still had to take a few weeks off from running. (Ugh!) Fun fact: a washing machine picks up speed tumbling down stairs. In other good news, we got a new washing machine and my husband learned something about refinishing a section of hardwood floor.

That evening, I went on with my plans of enjoying myself at an ornament and cookie exchange at a friend's house. I ended my evening with a trip to a new grocery store, where I got great deals on dry ingredients for gifts in jars I was making as Christmas presents. Loving a good bargain, I did a little jig when I got home and told my fiancee about the fantastic prices I'd found. My joyous jig was forever named the Saving Money Dance.

These days, I do the Saving Money Dance a lot when shopping online. I use eBates to get cash back on purchases at a variety of retailers. It's installed in my browser, so automatically checks for cash back when I'm shopping. I also have the app installed on my tablet and phone, and shop directly from there (it links to the retailers sites) to get cash back anytime. Give it a try:

eBates

Honey is another app that works in the background while you shop. It looks for coupons for online retailers and gives you a chance to apply them during checkout. Much like eBates, it can be used in a browser or app. Easy peasy!

Honey

Raise is a good site and app for buying discounted gift cards. You can choose to receive notifications when the price drops on your preferred stores and restaurants. The gift cards need to be printed or used electronically, so not the best for gift giving, unless you just forward the recipient the email. You can easily load your purchased gift cards into the store app (such as Starbucks, Gap, etc.) to earn the retailer's rewards from using the app. Best of all, eBates sometimes offers cash back on Raise purchases!

Raise

And there you have it. Possibly some new apps / sites to try as you finish your holiday shopping, possibly a wasted two minutes reading this blog. 

Tell me about your favorite ways to save money. I'm a coupon user and comparison shopper. How about you?

Anyone else have a saving money dance? It makes bargains extra fun in my house. :-) 

Trashy People

Ha! Betcha thought you were coming here to read about trashy people in the white trashy sense. Nope. Don't get me wrong, I can be Judgey McJudgerson and talk smack about people with the best of 'em, but I'm talking about litter today. Garbage. Rubbish. That kind of trash.

There's a small concert pavilion in our town. We pass it on the way to the post office, the library, grocery store, pharmacy, pretty much everywhere. We pass it on foot, on bike, on scooters, in cars and trucks. We go by it every day. 360 days of the year, it's fine. Clean, well kept, and unnoticeable. On the day after a concert, it's bad. When it rains before the concert, and everyone hangs out in their cars, it's horrible. Bags and boxes of beer cans and bottles. Fast food bags full of concert trash. Disposable diapers. Cigarette cartons. I can't take it. I pick up trash on those days. I take three walks: one for cans, one for other recycling, and one for genuine garbage. There's enough left behind that I fill my daughter's wagon each time.

We also live near a large outdoor bar. It's usually fine, but opening weekend is a mob scene. Oddly enough, by noon on the day after opening, our town is the cleanest it ever is. Scout troops and church groups come out to clean up the trash on the morning after opening day. Boy scouts shouldn't have to do clean up trash as a service project. They should be building benches in cemeteries and  clearing overgrown hiking trails. Yet they spend the morning after Tiki Bar opening day picking up beer cans, plastic cups, fast food wrappers, and everything else the bar patrons have discarded on their way to and from the bar. (There's not much parking near the bar, so people park all over our small town, as far as two miles away, to walk to the bar. It's fantastic people watching)

My four year old sweetie didn't take long to catch on to the fact that littering is just plain lazy. "Mama, ders witterbugs all ova did town! Wook at all da twash evewywhewe!" Translation and side note: "Mama, there's litterbugs all over this town! Look at all the trash everywhere!" Just OBTW, it makes me a little twitchy when people post things on social media, written as their kids pronounce it, but I feel like it really does contribute to the context here. Reading it out loud, in that little kid voice, with the little kid pronunciations, makes the littering seem that much more ridiculous. Sweet little girl. She makes signs and gives them to her little friends, to discourage litterbugs and their habits.

No littering, yo!
Especially not blueberry seltzer water cans!

Cans are the litter that Short Drawers and I pick up most often. A volunteer from my godson's private K-8 school takes the cans to a local distributor for cash. The money earned from recycling is used for the eighth grade field trip. The school is less than a half mile from our house, with an easily accessible drop-off point for the cans, so we take the collected cans, along with our own stash of seltzer water, ginger beer, and Coke Zero cans, to the school when our five gallon "can bucket" gets full. My godson's younger brother is in sixth grade. That school's only getting cans through his eighth grade year. After that, I'm cashing them in for LEG's college savings account. She'll be able to afford an Ivy League education with no student loans at this rate. (And I'm totally sure my special snowflake will get into Yale. I say that in jest. I have no idea. I just chuckle a bit at all the parents of toddlers and preschoolers who are certain their little prodigies are gifted.) We collected 11 cans in the 0.8 miles between our house and the library one day. That was just three days after I'd done a solo can run over the weekend. Oy vey!

0.8 miles

Two miles, a different day.
 Dang, litterbugs drink some nasty beer!

Tell me about your worst litter experiences. Mine was in my teens, when I was lifeguarding at the pool at a marina. There was a big overnight sailboat race that ended at the marina, with the winners coming in sometime before dawn on Saturday morning. After disinfecting the pool, I spent a good portion of Monday picking up cigarette butts from the gravel parking lot. Ewww.

I Miss My Dad

If you hadn't noticed (ha!), I'm a crappy blogger. I haven't written a post for about two months, and I'm here to talk about the grief I'm feeling and what a hard few weeks (?) months (?) it's been for me.

I miss my dad. A lot. Not shocking news to anyone who knows me, because I talk about him often. Last week I posted a long bloggity thing on my personal Facebook page about how much I miss him, and how I tried (and liked!) a rum & tonic in his memory. Cruzan rum, of course, his rum of choice for the last few years of his life. Not that he'd turn down a drink made with any rum, of course, he wasn't a high falutin' guy or picky. I do remember about 15 years ago, I went on a cruise (the one and only cruse I've been on btw) that sailed in and out of Puerto Rico. I picked up some rum for him in the San Juan airport. My boss at the time had requested a bottle of Ron del Berilito from the duty-free shop. Since the shop sold things with handy three bottle carry-on boxes, I got a box for my boss, a box for me, and a box for my dad. It was good stuff. He really liked it. I also picked up a bottle of spice infused rum in Grenada on that cruise. It was some ridiculously strong stuff. It tasted like it had to be four thousand proof or something. The only time I've ever seen my dad empty part of a bottle, pour in regular rum, and mix the two back and forth to get something drinkable. I think I would have just used the spiced rum as lighter fluid or something. But he was a really frugal guy. Waste not, want not. Digression to a funny story I love telling about my dad: He and my mom lived in the same house for about 40 years. When they were offered a gorgeous waterfront house down the street from it for a great selling price, they bought. My dad's brother-in-law, my uncle, was helping my dad move his workshop to the new house. As my uncle was putting stuff in the trashcan, my dad was taking it out. Yup. Waste not, want not. String too short to save? No such thing! Save it!

My first rum & tonic.
(Everyone else had the cocktail glasses in use
by the time I made my drink,
so yes, that's a stemless wine glass.)

Everyone said the first year after his death would be the hardest. Every change of season has been hard, the first of all holidays without him, his birthday, Father's Day, my parent's 50th anniversary - all very emotionally challenging days for me. (Their 50th wedding anniversary was on Father's Day. How's that for a cruel trick the universe played? Ugh. I can't imagine how difficult that day must have been for my mom.) The most difficult day of all so far has been his birthday. That was HIS day. Father's Day is shared with all the dads out there. We celebrate them all. But on his birthday, we celebrate him. And we did - we had a birthday dinner at my parents' house. We didn't sing Happy Birthday or anything, but we had a menu very typical of what we'd have on his birthday, we had his favorite cake, and we talked about him a lot.

Think about him too much? Do I obsess over and relish in my grief? I don't think so. There's no such thing as missing someone too much. My older and wiser cousin, godmother, and good friend (she's all one person) told me that the depth of our grief and sadness is proportionate to the depth of our love for the one we lost. She's so right.

I had a few sessions with a Hospice grief counselor last fall. Once again, I can't say enough good things about my family's experience with Hospice. Amazing. Anyway, the counselor told me that at some point, we learn to embrace the grief. We accept it. It's like another being in the room with us. Our loved one is with us, but so is the grief. It's just sitting next to us, like an old familiar friend. I get it now. I think I've embraced and accepted the grief.

My four year old daughter talks about him and to him all the time. I think that's helped me embrace the grief. It's helped me accept that it's ok to still feel this deep sadness and miss him so much. My does and says really sweet things. A couple weeks ago, after a rain shower, she pointed at the rainbow up in the sky. "See that mama? Grandpa Bill's sitting up there on that rainbow. He's looking at us and smiling." Then she waved to him. "Hi, Grandpa Bill!" And my heart melted. A few days ago, she came into my bedroom (after I'd tucked her in, of course, the kid procrastinates going to bed like a champ), and drew a cross with her finger on the condensation on the water glass on my nightstand. "Mama, I drew a cross on your glass, so you'd always remember Grandpa Bill." And my heart melted again.

Thinking of you, Dad. I miss you every day and always will. 💜

CoDel Race Report

Abridged version: 

I mostly trained for a half marathon, decided on race morning to run a full, had a great weekend away with my friends, made some new friends, and have now fully recovered.

Lengthy version:

In August. several of my friends registered for the Coastal Delaware Running Festival's marathon. My summer was kind of crazy. I couldn't make a commitment. Knee pain, child who wouldn't potty train but wanted to go to preschool, sick dad, other family deaths, etc. At the reception following my dad's funeral, one of my friends asked if I was ready to register for CoDel. I jokingly reminded her his body wasn't even cold yet, and registered for the half a few days later. I figured it would be a fun weekend away with my friends.

My half marathon training went well last winter. I did most of my long runs with my friends who were training for the full. I debated switching to the full a few times, but I got sick. I missed a long run, did another one, had a good run, debated switching to the full, and got sick. Lather, rinse, repeat. I was sick four times during training. (Thanks for that, preschool. How my daughter remained unscathed is beyond me. It reminded me of my first year teaching elementary school. I was sick constantly.) I went on vacation during the end of the training period and ran maybe twice in the three weeks before the half? I was glad I'd decided against the full.

My friends picked me up Saturday morning to leave for the race. Rainy, drizzly, cool day - perfect for a road trip including stops at Starbucks, Panera, and the outlets. Columbia and Under Armour? Yes please! During the road trip, we realized one of our friends had decided a few days earlier not to run anything at CoDel. Some fast and furious texting and emailing ensued, and by the time we arrived at packet pick-up, we had permission to get our friend's packet. (We figured she'd want the nice shirt and pint glass.)

After settling into our lodging that evening, we looked at the course maps and logistics for the day. We quickly learned that half and full runners of similar paces wouldn't be running together at all. What's a girl to do? Paint her nails, of course. Paint and ponder.

Pic was actually on race morning.
Black coffee and a second coat of polish.
Go time!

Cue Sunday morning. The four of us who had traveled to Delaware together loaded up our hydration packs with the essentials (water, gu, and chocolate covered coffee beans), loaded ourselves into the minivan, and headed to the start line. I was wearing my friend's full marathon bib, and carried my half marathon bib in my pack. You just never know what you're gonna do. I'd decided that if I made it to 20, I'd finish. If not, I'd hop on the stragglers bus and call it a training run. Not sure what it would be a training run for. Life lessons maybe?

My longest training run was 11 miles. This was my 11th full marathon. I started hurting around 11 miles. Interesting chain of events. I wasn't running as a bandit, it was more of an unofficial transfer IMO. Heck, I sure wasn't placing.

I could have turned around at the half turnaround point, but why?

I was only supposed to see 13 mile markers that day.
Oops!

It was fun running with my friends, it was a beautiful course, the event was well organized, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Except I'd train, probably. Training is the un-fun part of distance running. Events are way more fun than long training runs.

There was a nice stretch of the race in Cape Henlopen State Park, which I have fond memories of visiting with my dad when I was in my late teens / early 20s. Great packed gravel path in the park, easy on the ol' knees. Another nice stretch of the race was along a paved multi-use path bordering several neighborhoods, totally protected from vehicular traffic. My only complaint with the course was a mile or two right near the end of the course, when we were on a road with an inescapable camber.

Somewhere around mile 23ish, there was a hair salon on the course that worked an alpha and an omega into the signage. I was sure I was in my own personal omega right then. It had to be a sign.

Make it stop! End race, end!
photo credit

For what felt like that last 34,681 miles of the course, I wanted OUT of Rehobeth Beach. I had choice words in my head, many uttered aloud, about that *&@$^% water tower in the *&@$^% town of Rehobeth Beach that I had been seeing for hoouuurrrrrsssss. For. Ev. Er. We got out of Rehobeth, we got back to Dewey, all was well.

Then I ate. This piggy cookie sums up most of my dietary choices for the 72 hours following the race. Fat, sugar, and salt. All of it,. All the yums.

I think there's still cookie crumbs in my friend's minivan.

We got home Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning, while hobbling around the house and trying to get my daughter ready for the day, I chose what I considered the most appropriate coffee cup for the day. It reminds me a lot of my dad, who in his later years, lived for the day and the moment.

You only live once, so make it count,
even if it black coffee is needed to enjoy the one life you life. 

Let's talk about poor life choices. I don't regret my unplanned marathon one bit. I guess it's a questionable life choice. Any stories to share of your poor and/or questionable life choices?

Stop Complaining, Start Praising

There's some fantastic customer service out there. We're usually quick to complain about bad customer service... semi-publicly on social media, to our friends, in scathing messages to businesses, pretty much to anyone who will listen, or who falls victim to our ranting. It's easy to complain. Although it takes more effort, it's nice to compliment and praise when appropriate, too. I've had some fantastic experiences the past few years.

I'm not above taking hand-me-downs from friends, for myself or for my spawn. A good friend gave me two pairs of Dansko clogs years ago. They quickly joined the pair I already owned as comfortable favorites to wear. One rainy evening last winter, while strolling around town wearing one of the pairs my friend had given me, the bottoms of my feet felt wet. Sweaty feet? Leaky shoes? I couldn't figure it out until the next rainy day. (I'm a slow learner.) I looked at the bottoms of my clogs to discover the soles had disintegrated. After contacting Dansko, I sent them pictures. They sent me a paid shipping label to return the shoes to them. A couple weeks later, brand new clogs, exactly like the leaky ones, arrived in my mailbox. Ta-da! (Don't) ask and you shall receive (anyway!)

🎵Danskos, old and new to me.
Living together in perfect harmony, side by side on my doormat.🎵
(to the tune of Ebony and Ivory. I'm sure the copyright police will come get me soon.)

I bought a used baby / toddler carrier hiking backpack from a friend about three years ago. It was a gently used Kelty. Another friend had borrowed the backpack several times from her, and asked to borrow it from me after I'd purchased it. When she returned it to me, a piece was broken. The backpack seemed to still work fine, but my friend and I thought the safety might have been compromised. My friend contacted Kelty with a description of the problem. Since no replacement part was available, the folks at Kelty asked me to cut the backpack strap, making it unusable, and send them a picture. I obliged. Less than a week later, a brand-spankin' new backpack arrived on my doorstep.

Gently used and well taken care of.
Moral debate coming soon. LEG has almost outgrown it.
Do I sell it for its value,
or for what I paid for the one that's now in a landfill
somewhere with a cut strap?

My daughter received a Plow & Hearth snack dispenser and a bag of Christmas colored M&Ms from a family friend as a Christmas gift. She asked to fill what she immediately named the "M&M Launcher" right away. Eh, it was Christmas. Why not indulge the short person with candy for lunch? After unboxing the M&M Launcher and filling the globe, we discovered it was defective. No big deal, because it was easily fixable with a dot of superglue on the flange. I put the gift away. It was out of LEG's sight, out of LEG's mind for the month it took me to get around to fixing it. I had to buy new superglue, which takes a lot of effort, y'know. Why does superglue always dry up within days of opening it, anyway? I digress. Anyway, I fixed the M&M Launcher and hand washed the globe per the instructions provided by Plow & Hearth. That evening, my husband accidentally knocked the globe out of the dish drainer and on to our ceramic tiled kitchen floor. Cue massive meltdown and tears from the four year old. So much sadness. I emailed Plow and Hearth, who suggested I contact the local(ish) store, as they couldn't find a recently fulfilled online order snack dispenser order originating from the zip code of the friend who'd given it to LEG. I called the store, they were wonderfully helpful, got a copy of the receipt from my friend and trekked to the nearest Plow & Hearth store. Two and a half hours later, I was home with a new M&M Launcher for my happy spawn. I still don't know what happened to the bag of Christmas M&Ms. That's my story and I'm sticking with it. LEG is currently happy enough with the store brand cereal in her snack dispenser.

Self dispensing breakfast before dawn - every preschooler's dream!

I adore our BoB (Baby on Board) jogging stroller. It's been a member of our family since November 2012, when my husband's aunts purchased my chosen BoB model as a baby shower gift. I chose the BoB with more care than I chose LEG's crib. I did trial runs with my friend's BoBs of varying models. I folded them up and put them in my car. I checked out online reviews on several sites. We've put hundreds of miles on our BoB. My daughter's first flight was at nine months old, and I gate checked the BoB. Decided quickly that it was the only way to travel through an airport with a baby or toddler. About two years ago, Southwest's ground crew was a bit rough with our beloved BoB. The buckle that holds it closed while collapsed broke. My dad, handy guy that he was, fixed me right up with a rope (he called it a line) and a series of quick-tie, quick-release knots. I contacted BoB anyway, and they quickly sent me a replacement buckle. Unfortunately, I don't have a sewing machine that can handle multiple layers of thick webbing, so the buckle is still sitting in our basement. Anyone need a buckle already on some webbing?

Useless buckle, but a fun decoration on the stroller handle.
There's a useful buckle collecting dust in the basement.

After my experience with BoB, I decided to contact Southwest about the stroller buckle. Along with apologizing for the damaged stroller buckle, they gave me two $100 Southwest vouchers - one for me, and one for my daughter. I contacted BoB and Southwest from Florida in the spring, and used the vouchers to get us to Maine that summer. Up and down the eastern seaboard, partially on Southwest's dime. Thanks Southwest!

Flying is fun! Using vouchers to fly is even more fun!

There are plenty of good people, who work for good companies, who provide good customer service. Any great stories to share? Good news is good.

Potty Training 101

Isn't this a favorite topic of all parents of young children? Who doesn't like to talk pee, poop, and potty? Oh, that's right! Anyone who's attempting to potty train a stubborn, strong-willed child.

That was me six months ago. We had an August 30 deadline looming. My stubborn spawn was starting preschool on August 30. No diapers allowed. We tried to take away her diapers over the long 4th of July weekend. My husband and I were in it together. The kid was not going to wear diapers. She merrily hung out in the house and in the yard, sometimes in undies and sometimes without anything on her lower half. She merrily peed in the house and in the yard, sometimes in undies and sometimes without anything on her lower half. She merrily got the pee towel and cleaned it up. She just didn't care. Didn't want a sticker on the sticker chart, didn't want our praise, didn't want an M&M. We gave up mid-way through Day 3, when she pooped for the first time all weekend, in a hidden place on the basement floor. Done. My stubborn spawn was back in diapers.

Most of life really can be expressed in memes.

Our next attempt was to be in mid-August, after returning from a two week vacation. We decided that a 15 hour road trip would be best done with our daughter in diapers. We returned from vacation to several crises with our extended family. LEG spent some time away from us, for long days and occasional overnights, while I spent time coping with things with family. LEG kept her beloved diapers during this time. It didn't seem fair to outsource potty training to my in-laws and close friends.

August 26, preschool orientation, arrived. Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants for orientation. I even took her on errands afterwards. We hit the gas station, grocery store and Hallmark. It was her dad's birthday, and she wanted to buy him a blue balloon. She waited patiently, in dry undies, while they filled the helium balloon. We went through the drive through car wash. All that water, and her undies stayed dry. Three and a half hours after leaving the house, we returned home. Within seconds of stepping inside, LEG's undies and our hardwood floor were soaked.

August 30, first day of preschool, arrived. Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants for the morning, I picked her up from school three hours later, in wet undies.

August 31 arrived. I mentioned yesterday that I joined Team Anchovy on August 31. It was a milestone for my daughter too, because that was the day she found herself deep in the throes of potty training. I'd only packed one diaper in the bag I left at my parents' house while I took my dad to the optometrist. By then, I was done changing pee soaked diapers (I made LEG do that herself), and was only changing poopy ones. Because really, who doesn't love changing a diaper filled with toddler-sized poop? Fun times. I asked my mom to do the same, which she did. LEG had soiled the diaper she was wearing, and my mom had changed her. There wasn't another diaper packed, just two pairs of undies.

After having lunch with delicious anchovies, I attempted to put LEG down for a nap at my parents' house. I wanted to hang out for a while with my parents and meet with the Hospice social worker who was visiting that afternoon. LEG would not nap. She danced, sang, read, and played in the guest room. She came out of the room twice and was sent back in. After meeting with the hospice social worker and talking with my parents, I decided to pack up my tired little girl and head home. She'd pooped in her diaper. Of course. For over a year, she hadn't been sleeping in a poopy diaper.

AGAIN

Much to her duress, I put LEG's happy little butt in underpants and went home. Fortunately, she fell asleep in the car, so I had a few minutes to rid the house of accessible diapers. Within minutes, all diapers were hidden in the attic.

I will win the potty training battle.
I will not succumb to my three year old's pleas for diapers.
Victory shall be mine.
meme credit

I spent the next three days doing laundry. That's what was most memorable about the next three days. My friends and family, having spawn of their own, didn't seem to mind me toting a floor potty, sticker chart, treats, old towels, floor cleaner, and multiple changes of LEG's clothes around with LEG. LEG didn't seem to mind cleaning pee off floors. I thought long and hard about the flooring every place LEG and I went. Old towels and a spray bottle of white vinegar and water go a long way. One friend even had a stash of  M&Ms she shared with LEG and her own fully potty trained child. Esprit de corps.

My daughter responded surprisingly well to delayed gratification. I wish I'd taken a picture of the sticker chart I made, because it was, IMO pretty clever. LEG earned a sticker and an M&M for every successful potty event. (I loved watching her savor the first M&M she earned. "This M&M is soooo good!" She was in heaven.) I think there were about 30 spaces on the chart, set up kind of like a Candyland board game. There were incremental rewards along the way, Annie's bunny snacks about every 5-7 spaces, a trip to Rita's Italian Ice on about the 20th space, and a bubble gun (highly coveted toy) at the end. I put a picture of each incremental reward on the chart, and the bubble gun sat atop the fridge in plain view. Potty training was done in less than a week. Just like that. My daughter was quite pleased with herself. She told everyone about the treats and other rewards, and showed off her Elsa and Anna underwear. (If she's still showing off her undies at church when she's 13, I'll need some parenting advice.)

meme credit

Since every child is the same, I encourage you to follow my method if you have a stubborn toddler who doesn't want to use the toilet. I'm an expert. And if you believe any of this paragraph, you're gullible. 

Tell me your potty training stories. Entertain me. Or vent. This too shall pass.

I Like Anchovies

People are team anchovy or not. There's not much middle ground. No one kind of likes anchovies. You either like them or you don't. Anchovy paste doesn't count. A good Caesar salad dressing contains a respectable amount of anchovy paste.

I joined team anchovy on August 31. I took my dad to an optometrist appointment while my mom kept my daughter. My dad couldn't see very well. I read (shouted, he also couldn't hear very well) the forms to him and filled them out. As he held a pen, I put it on the papers he had to sign. Despite not being able to see or hear very well, my dad recognized friends' voices in the waiting room and chatted with three folks he hadn't caught up with in a while. Living in a small community is nice sometimes. I like when errands and appointments turn into social outings. After his exam, we went to the adjoining vision center, where he was fitted for glasses with a whole host of corrective and accommodating features. Bifocals, anti-glare, prisms, you name it. Modern medicine is amazing. Being the social creature (I just can't call him a butterfly) that my dad was, he chatted with the woman who helped him. He loved that she was local (probably in her early 20s) and talked long enough to determine that he knew her great uncle twice removed. Or something like that.

Back to team anchovy. We stopped on the way home to pick up a few things, including my dad's favorite non-alcoholic beer and some anchovies. Dad waited in the car while I picked up the essentials from the gourmet grocery, beer, and wine store. Gourmet is a term I use loosely and generously. Small town, y'know.

When we got back to my parents' house, my mom had made pizza for lunch. My mom and daughter had already started eating, but it wasn't too late for mom to toss some anchovies on dad's pizza and finish baking it. After years of shunning anchovies, I decided to try a small piece of dad's pizza. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe my judgement was altered by the non-alcoholic beer. Maybe my taste buds have changed. Maybe my whole body has changed. I liked it. It was tasty. I had another piece. I put anchovies on some anchovy-less pizza and put it under the broiler to crisp it up. Since then, I've bought anchovies. I've ordered anchovies on a quarter of the pizza I've ordered for my family's dinner. I've eaten them on saltines.

I haven't forgotten what it's like to be on team anti-anchovy. My daughter won't let me forget. She calls them stinky fish. Four year olds are so eloquent. I respectfully put my leftovers in a separate container, and heat up the rest of the family's leftovers before I put my pizza with anchovies in the oven or cast iron skillet. But I am 100% team anchovy now.

Except my dad. And now me.
meme credit

How about you? Team anchovy or not?