Sunday, April 22
Too Much Mind On My Time
This delectable treat is made with Baker's Microwavable Dipping Chocolate. At $1.84 a carton, it turns strawberries into a sinful treat.
To achieve the double dipped look pictured here, my husband did the bottoms of the strawberries by inserting toothpicks in the tops, dipping--then putting the toothpicked strawberries, standing on their heads, into a block of styrofoam in the refrigerator. Once chilled, he removed the toothpicks and put the strawberries, right side up, for upper drizzling.
I didn't sleep well last night, waking every two hours or so for a trip to the bathroom and to refill the water glass I keep at my bedside. I stepped out on the deck two or three times to run Jake off the porch. Once outside I'd look at all the stars. My racing mind wouldn't let me get back to sleep. I was busy planning what chores I needed to do on Sunday.
Realizing that I MUST sleep, I stepped back inside. The house was quiet with the exception of my other half blowing on the couch (he sometimes snores, but more often than not, he blows). He's recovering from a dry socket!
I'm really wasn't exactly sure what a dry socket entailed until yesterday morning. I did research and turns out, it just means the clot that usually forms after a tooth is pulled has been dislodged.
Momo and Pop always told me that if I kept my tongue out of the hole left from my missing tooth, the new one would be gold. Of course, I never got any gold teeth. Come to think of it, I don't know (even as a child) why I'd want one! I guess they were using that parental psychology to get me to do what was in my best interest.
I can think of times I pulled the same stunt on my daughters. When they were very small, I told them the locket I wore around my neck contained a fairy. A magic fairy. And we must never open the locket or she'd fall out.
Concerned for the safety of my precious little girls, I told them they had better always buckle their seat belts in the car. I warned that if a policeman stopped us, and they were unbuckled, he'd whip their bottom. (They have a healthy respect for the law to this day.)
Momo always told me that if I ate the burned french fries ( or whatever was a bit too done) that it would make my hair curly. You can bet I ate all I could hold. No curls. (In Momo's defense, she had four little ones and a husband that was always on the road. She really is a good cook.)
What parental psychology did you hear as a child? What are you telling your own children?