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It’s The Little Things: Girl Scout Cookies

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The title of this post should really be called, “I’m a glutton.”

Or “How to gain ten pounds in ten days.”

But, it is time for a “littlest things” post and so it shall remain titled with what it is.

Only you and I and my ecstatic thighs (they love any old reason to clap) will know the truth.

Every year. Every single year I end up buying around thirty-five boxes of girl scout cookies. Oh, yes. You read that right. It is not a three. It is not a five. But rather a three and a five together to make a larger number. And a larger me. Coincidentally… Or not… one pound is created by eating thirty five hundred calories that your body did not burn off.

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I cannot resist them. I primarily just buy the Thin Mint variety. I buy most of them from my sweet girlfriend’s little girl. Although I always buy a box from the little girls that stand outside of the grocery store, too. I cannot resist cookies and I cannot say, “no” to a hopeful child.

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I actually have not eaten A cookie in a week. Because I cannot each A cookie. It ends up being A sleeve. Or A box.

I am A greedy monster. A cookie monster. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom.

I have avoided looking at them for seven days.

Seven long days.

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But I am taking pictures of them for you today.

I am staying strong. Deep breaths.

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The Girl Scout Cookies are made at two different factories. The Thin Mints are packaged in either a clear cellophane wrapper or a foil enclosure depending on which factory they come from. No, I did not just look that up. I know way too much about Girl Scout Cookies.

I much prefer the foil wrapper. Thankfully that is what my girlfriend’s daughter’s troop receives.

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The cookies usually last us until January of the next year. We freeze most of them. So it is not like we are eating them all at once. Being the slight hoarder that I am, I panic at the thought of running out of these cookies. They are only available once a year.

Do you stock up on Girl Scout Cookies? Which ones are your favorite? Do you like the foil or cellophane wrapped cookies better?

It’s The Little Things: hoarding a year-supply of a snack. Now that’s true craziness happiness!

Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle.

Nom. Nom. Nom.

Sob.

Clap! Clap!

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Dear Children: Halfway

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Today you have to go back to school after your long winter break. I just want to wring my hands and cry. I am not ready for you to go back. I have enjoyed every single moment of you being at home with me. Please don’t tell anyone this. I am afraid they will kick me out of Lazy-Mothers-R-Us. Although I was always too lazy to go to those meetings anyway (Do they even have meetings? Does the imaginary club I invented in my head carry on secret meetings? Must find this out…someday).

Halfway.

How is this school year halfway over?

The other night we spoke of homeschooling. Not seriously. I am not equipped to take on such a task. First, my knowledge is not up to par with today’s standards. Second, because I fear that we would have one hour of studying and seven hours of recess. Because that is what I am good at. This is perhaps why both of you were so gung-ho with the idea.

I asked you both what subject I would be capable of teaching and you both replied, “cooking.”

Awwww… Yes. Who needs math or english or science?

Let’s just all major in mashed potatoes.

Do they give scholarships for that?

Is it paid in potatoes or butter?

Halfway.

We are halfway through. But it means so much more than that. It means that in six months I will officially have no children in elementary school. Both of your schools will have the word “high” in them. I cannot see why, as it makes me feel so low.

And old.

Halfway.

It means that in six months, you, my daughter, will only have three years left at home with us. Three years! How am I ever going to manage this? It makes me want to hide in bed and never leave. And on some days I do just that. The idea of you leaving me is as foreign as the languages I will never homeschool you in.

Last night we gathered together backpacks and binders. Old lunches were found buried in the bottom of bags. A pleasant reminder as to why I joined Lazy-Mothers-R-Us in the first place. Inventory was taken and it seems that of the 2,587,463 pencils I purchased you at the beginning of the year, we have two left. Two! It also seems that both of your folders have been gnawed on and chewed then spit back out and mauled again. How else to explain the full lunches in both of your bags and the decrepit state of your folders? Maybe I’m not qualified to teach you cooking after all.

Halfway.

That is the status of my heart right now. Frozen between breaking in your absence and rejoicing in your return. It is in a stasis period. It seems to be the only thing not moving. For Time certainly has not stopped.

June. I try not to curse on this blog, but there never was such a bad four letter word as that one. The end of the school year. I always think of it as the end of yet another year that you will be with us. But maybe I am viewing this all wrong. It is, basically, the very beginning of a whole summer spent at home with me.

Maybe June isn’t such a bad word. In fact, maybe halfway isn’t either. Maybe this school year is halfway full instead of halfway empty. Oh, never mind, that analogy is useless with anything other than a glass.

Halfway.

Well, we are here whichever it may be. And, I, for one, am not even halfway ready for it.

Is it too late to stay home and make mashed potatoes?

I heard they taste better than binders.

And tears.