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Knee How

The future is here.

When it’s time to beat my kids (spank-thirty I’ve named it), I’m a believer in the wooden spoon. Not because it leaves shinier welts (although it does do that—in fact, even a low-level mom equipped with a switch can deal around 2d12 damage), but because the time you spend finding it serves as the personal timeout experts recommend—allowing you to discipline out of calmed fairness rather than impassioned anger. But as the wee ones discover how to walk, talk and tattle, my maternal lash just doesn’t spin the poetry it used to. After all, what does an eighteen-year-old male have to fear from a woman six inches shorter, weighing none-of-your-fucking-business less? What will a birching teach him when he goes on a four hundred dollar shopping spree with my debit card?

I’m not really looking for answers; I just miss when keeping my ducks in a configuration akin to a row was simpler. The silver lining is that, on the rare occasion when my monsters do show providence, it sends my heart to a place beyond aflutter. Case in point: This summer, my twelve-year-old took a course in Mandarin for no reason other than he could. It was part of a study, conducted by the University of Maryland, to see how well his demographic could latch onto the language. Six weeks of three hour classes later, and he already has a conversational proficiency. Don’t take my word for it, experience it for yourself:

I can’t tell you how much this video means to me. That my boy did this entirely for his personal betterment fills me with the hope that, if I can just ride the coattails of his success, I won’t have to save for retirement. Well, at least until our eastern overlords call in their half of this country’s debt, thereby forming the UPC (see above photo). Even then I’ll have a head start, what with my bilingual ginger. It won’t be all bad: China is, of course, the undisputed champion of animal cruelty—so the stupid foie gras ban is sure to be rescinded.

Chineez-Its (yet wholly American)

Better than Sunshine’s.

Adapted from Cooking ala Mel

  • 1 1/2 cups shredded cheese (I used the Kirkland Mexican Blend)
  • 4 tbsp cold unsalted butter
  • 3/4 cup flour
  • 1/4 tsp salt
  • sea salt or bacon salt

Preheat oven to 350˚. Combine cheese, butter, flour and 1/4 tsp salt in a food processor. Blend the ingredients together until they create a ball. Remove and roll to 1/8 inch thick. (I placed the dough on a Silpat and topped with parchment paper to prevent the dough from sticking to the rolling pin.) Cut into squares—a pizza roller does a fine job—and transfer to a parchment-lined cooking sheet. Prick each cracker with a fork and sprinkle with sea salt or bacon salt. Bake for 8–10 minutes, or until crackers are brown around the edges. Allow to cool and serve.

Should the sensitive eyes of LinkedIn ever gaze upon this post, let me make something clear: I can count off on one hand how many times I’ve spanked each of my children. Despite their occasional bullshit, all three turned out to be well-adjusted intellectuals. Also, I must apologize to my nerd following: The D&D reference in the opening paragraph isn’t mine. I know the idea of a DM with DDs is the white whale of your subterranean existence, but, alas, my boyfriend gave me the joke. Know why? He lacks a vagina. Or he watered his vagina and a penis grew. Something like that.

TWTG says, “You have peanut butter in my secret fatness, right?”