Cooking Failures

Tag: writing

  • Old broken plastic dog toy bins

    Is there anyone else who just doesn’t like new things? A new phone, a new car, even new clothes…. they just don’t excite me. There’s something about the old, the familiar, the well-loved, that just feels so comfortable. It feels like home.

    I wear my clothes out until they’ve disintegrated to nothing. My favorite pair of black pants has holes in the butt, but it’s fine, I just wear black underwear, and no one can really tell. No one’s really looking at my butt that closely.

     I had a favorite gray long sleeve waffle knit shirt that I wore and wore and wore until it fell apart. The collar had come off, the cuffs had come off, the holes in it were too big to keep wearing it, even around the house. I still miss that shirt over 20 years later.

     It’s also as if my old clothes know me. They know how I like them to fit; they know how I like them to feel and when I get up off the couch they say, “ Oh, are you going to get yourself another glass of wine?” Then they high five me  because my clothes know if they are lucky, I will spill some on them and they will get some wine too!

    New clothes are all tight and stiff, and uncomfortable. They try to be all high waisted. No one likes a high waist! I like a low waist. I know that’s your name and what you were made to do, but don’t try to do that stuff around my house. Go low.

    They’re also very judgmental and questioning. “Are you getting ANOTHER glass of wine?” They also freak out when I spill stuff on them.  “Quick! Get the stain stick!” They yell. “Oxy Clean! Shout! Where are you?!”

    “Chill!” I tell them. “You don’t need a stain stick! Or any of that other stuff. We love stains around here. It gives us character!”

    And then there’s my car. I’ve only had it for eight years, but I’ve put over 230,000 miles on it. The back right door doesn’t close properly; the left turn signal doesn’t work unless you push it down really hard. If you just push it down normally, then the right turn signal will come on. I give it a break because sometimes I confuse my right with my left also. 

    The air vent on the far right doesn’t work, the paint is peeling, it has more than a few dents and scratches, and the radio is very finicky. The radio sometimes stops working, but over the years, I have found that I can easily reset it with my earring.

    “Oh, not this again,” I say pretending to be annoyed with the radio and I drive along, pull my earring out and reset it quickly.  Usually resetting the radio fixes it. If not, I just wait until the next day and then it starts working again magically. I guess you need patience with used and well-loved things.

    My car knows me. It knows what I want to listen to, it knows that I like to go below the speed limit and it doesn’t give me a hard time about it. Not like some rental cars that I’ve been in that just want to go fast. My minivan likes going slow and enjoying the view. Just like I do.

    I was going to say it knows exactly how I like my seat, but I just discovered last week that I can adjust the seat so there’s not a big bar sticking in the middle of my back! Who knew?  After eight years? I guess you can still learn new things about old cars no matter how long you’ve known them. And people too. With all its quirks and inconveniences, I love my car and I’m hoping it’ll last another million miles.

    My phone was the worst though. It was really old and well loved. It knew me so well. I don’t think another phone could ever know me so well. I know, I know, people talk about an Apple ID and you just sign in on the new phone and all of a sudden, all your stuff is there and then the new phone knows you too. I don’t really believe that. I got a new phone and I tried it. It doesn’t understand my typos, like my old phone did. This new phone corrects my typos to actual words!!! 

    “That’s not what I meant at all, New Phone! Old Phone would have totally known that” I actually said out loud the other day.

    It doesn’t know that I lose my phone all the time and there’s no reason to panic. Old phone just sits there and rolls his eyes and waits and waits for me to figure out where I left him. 

    New Phone is all panicky. “Where have you been? Why did you leave me alone? I thought you were lost forever!!!”

    New Phone needs to chill out.

    I do think it is pretty cool though how you can put one phone next to the other phone and they just transfer information and send stuff between them. How do they do that? It’s like magic!

    My old phone got to the point where it just wouldn’t send texts sometimes. (Maybe it knew I really shouldn’t send those texts, but still, it should do what it’s told) It just wouldn’t receive texts sometimes. I would get a notification that I got a text, but I couldn’t find it when I opened my text messages.

    There was also NEVER enough storage on my old phone so every time there was an update I have to delete everything. And still, there was not enough room for the update. Sometimes there was not enough storage for me to clock in on my work app. And don’t even get me started on pictures! There was never enough storage for me to take pictures.

    Sometimes I would delete and delete and delete a bunch of pictures I didn’t necessarily need (although I really wanted) and still there would be no room for me to take one picture. 

    “I just deleted 30 pictures!” I would say to Old Phone. “And you won’t even let me take one?”

    My phone said “no.” I get it. He was tired. I am too.

    I was at the vet’s office and they had the cutest little sign saying if your dog has anxiety, take this little bandana and lay it over her/him because it has been sprayed with something calming. (Well, the sign said it in a much more eloquent way. That’s why I wanted to take a picture!)

    I thought it was the cutest little sign, and I took one bandana and laid It over my dog. It had autumn leaves on it, and she looked so cute! I wanted to take a picture of the sign and take a picture of my dog to send to my family chat because I knew they would love it. But Old Phone said “no.”

    Even after I deleted so many things I just begged it for just one more picture and it said “no.”

    Also, the camera only worked in selfie mode. I’ve gotten pretty skilled though at taking every picture I need to take in selfie mode. I mean, doesn’t everyone just want my face in the corner of every picture I take? OK, probably NOT everyone.

    So I finally got a new phone, and I don’t know what the hype is about a new phone. I don’t know why people are so excited. It’s just a phone. It’s fine. It sends my texts. It receives my texts. It lets me take pictures. But really, I just miss Old Phone. My old phone was comfortable, well worn, and well loved, even with all his bad habits.

    Sometimes I think I want nice new things. The other morning, I was sitting on my couch looking around my house and I thought to myself that I really needed new baskets for the dog toys. This was after I woke up that morning and said to myself that I’m not going to buy anything unnecessary today.

    The current baskets are not even baskets! They are plastic bins the dog toys have been in for years. (and they have NEVER bothered me) They were bins that used to hold my kids’ toys when they were babies. These bins are over 15 years old. They don’t match and they are cracked down the side and cracked down the back. They are just not very pretty. Doesn’t my dog deserve better? For the toys she NEVER plays with. And besides, wouldn’t it just make my house look so pretty?

    So, I hopped on Amazon, and I bought my dog two new matching baskets for her toys. We have one in the front room and one in the back of the house. Honestly, she doesn’t even play with toys. It was the other dog that played with toys, but they are all still here.

    The new baskets are very pretty. They are woven baskets with a the cute little dog bone on them. 

    I was all excited when they came and I switched out the dog toys and showed them to my dog who didn’t care. She loves old well-loved things the best too.  After all, she loves me.  

    After three days of looking at them and how pretty they made my house look, I decided that I didn’t like the new dog toy baskets. 

    They were too nice and too new and too fancy. And the old ones reminded me of my kids when they were babies. They also reminded me of my old dog too who would often pull out all the toys.  And not clean them up.

    Good thing I hadn’t thrown the old bins out. I just threw them in the garage. I dug through the garage and found those old plastic broken bins and I returned those new dog baskets. It’s funny how you don’t really realize how much you love something sometimes. It is funny how they look perfect to me now.  Mismatched, well loved and all.

    It’s like that with people sometimes too. We get old and we get broken and we get worn out and we get boring. I hope no one will ever trade me in for something new and shiny. 

    That’s the thing though, we learn to love people just like we learn to love things. We love them with their faults, and with their broken parts. We love them because we know them so well, and even their annoying habits become endearing. We love them because they are not perfect. And neither are we.

    The world would be such a better place if we were happy with what we had instead of wanting something new and pretty, if we appreciated a little more our old well-loved things that brought us comfort, and if we were just happy with our old broken plastic dog toy bins.

  • Home (un)improvement


    I have never really watched those home improvement shows but the few times I have they look fun. And pretty easy too.

    A few years ago, I moved into a little rental house. I’m really good at taking care of houses. I keep them clean and well cared for, but accidents happen. Like burning the countertop with a candle or burning the siding while using a grill and a few other things.

    When it was time to move out, I was worried about how much of my security deposit they would take so I decided to fix every last thing I could. By myself. Well with my brother of course. He’s usually around for most mishaps. Usually, an active participant.

    First project was the blinds. We had broken blinds due to dogs and kids throwing balls in the house. I have heard that they will charge you an arm and a leg for that so it’s best to just replace blinds yourself.

    Well, how hard can it be, right? I watched a YouTube video about it, and it seemed simple enough. I was searching all around the house for a measuring tape so I could measure the blinds, but I just couldn’t find one.

    And then I remembered when I was little my mom would measure things with her hand. If she wanted to see if a couch or dresser would fit in a space, she would just stretch her thumb and middle finger out one time and put the thumb where the middle finger was and then do it again from that spot. That’s how she would measure things. 6 hand lengths, she would say.  This dresser will fit in this spot because it’s six hand lengths. What a brilliant and accurate way to measure I remember my 7-year-old self thinking. I was always impressed with anything my mom did.

    I figured I would just measure my blinds like that. Aren’t there just standard size blinds? So, I did my little hand measurements just like I watched my mom do when I was little and measured the blinds. They were 4 hand lengths, and one finger. Easy Peezy.

    I walked into Home Depot. Someone asked if they could help me and I told them I was looking for blinds, so they led me to the blind aisle. I told them I was looking for the cheapest blinds. They asked me what size, and I said “oh, I measured with my hands”, with proud look on my face.

    “You measured with your hands?”
    ⁃ Home Depot blinds lady with a very perplexed and confused look on her face

    “Oh yes, it is four hands and one finger. See? I do it like this!” And I started measuring with my hands down a box of blinds.

    Looking carefully, though, I’m noticing that the measurements are so exact and within inches of each other. Hmm…

    Who makes that many different size blinds? Are there really that many different sizes of windows? I was thinking this might be a little trickier than I thought. But I couldn’t show my doubts and insecurities.

    Full of confidence, I grabbed the box that looked like it was four hands and one finger length, and I told her confidently that this is it!  This is the one I need. 4 hand lengths and one finger.

    I didn’t want her to think I was an idiot so I told her I realize there was extra room in the box and the blinds did not fit perfectly from each end of the box and I have taken that into consideration.

    Ok, bring them back if they don’t fit.
    -Home Depot blinds lady

    I won’t! They will be fine.
    -I say cheerfully over my shoulder

    Feeling smug, I brought my blinds home. I took them out of the box and you guessed it. They were absolutely not the right size. That day I learned that you can absolutely not measure blinds with your hands. I blame my mother for this.

    I also learned there is an infinite number of different size blinds.

    When I was retelling the story to my mom, she laughed and said that you can’t use that method for exact measurements. Well, how was I supposed to know that? I just saw her measuring things like that when I was little, so I figured that’s how you measure things. She should have clarified that 43 years ago. I still blame my mother.

    So then I actually got my brother to help me find a measuring tape, we measured them exactly, returned the ones we had and got new ones that fit.

    I felt like I was doing the walk of shame bringing those blinds back in hoping the same blinds lady would have gone home by then.

    Of course she hadn’t.  She started laughing out loud when she saw me.

    “I figured you’d be back she said,” and we both had a really good laugh.

    At least she now has a funny story to share at the dinner table about the crazy woman who measures with her hands. I like being people’s entertainment.  Makes me feel like I am contributing to the world.  In my own Brita way.

    It made me feel a little better that I was only a couple inches off. I think that’s pretty good considering what I now know is an imperfect measuring technique. Now I know how important it is to be exact with measuring blinds. Learn something new every day I guess.

    Do you know those LED lights that were super popular and all the kids wanted them around the top of their rooms? The ones where you just peel off the sticky back and stick along the wall near the ceiling and they just seem so easy?

    Those are great! Both my kids wanted them, and we put them up in their rooms and it was so much fun. Until it’s time to move and take them down. They just stick on so when you peel them off, they should easily come right off without ripping off any paint underneath. Right? Wrong!

    I don’t know if that always happens or if there was just a shady paint job done in this particular house but when I peeled them off, paint just came off every few inches.

    After a little gasp, and a moment of panic, I pulled myself together and I told my brother that we can easily fix this. We will just paint the top 2 inches of the room. I know I saw paint in the shed. It’ll be easy. We’ve got this. I think I actually even high-fived him as I walked out of the room.

    We went in the garage and there were two different paint cans. I like it how they have a little drop of the color on the lid so you can see what it looks like. This particular room we were painting was a little green and the rest of the house was more beige.

    I picked up the can that looked greenish to me and I brought it inside. I sort of held it up against the wall. This is definitely the one, I told my brother, full of confidence.

    My brother and I each got a paintbrush and poured some paint into a little plastic cup and he started at one end and I started at the other end and we started just painting over the spots where the lights ripped off the first layer of paint. We were talking and laughing and having a great time.  See how fun home improvement can be?

    The color looks a little light I thought and I asked him what he thought. He agreed with me, but then I said, “Paint always looks different when it dries so I’m sure it’s the right color. Let’s just keep going.”

    So we kept going, and I kept doubting whether it was the right color, but then I just kept convincing myself that it was absolutely was the right color and it will just look different when it’s dry.

    Do you know when you’re too far into something that you can’t admit you were wrong, even though you know you are wrong? I kind of felt like that. It was too late to turn back now. But also, I said a little prayer because you know, miracles can happen.

    So we finished painting the top 2 inches of the room and it looked a little off, but I said we’ll just let it dry for a couple hours and then check back. I’m sure it will be fine.

    So I shut the door and went and had a glass of wine because sometimes wine fixes things like the wrong color paint. Or maybe wine really doesn’t fix anything and it’s all in my head.

    When it was dry, and we went to look at it and as you can guess, it was absolutely the wrong color.

    My brother said, maybe it’s just the lighting, and he turned off the light and used the flashlight on his phone to shine on wall. It did match when he did that but I am sure people were going to turn on the light I said.  I was laughing so hard at that I almost peed my pants.

    So I guess it is the other can of paint in the shed. We went back out, and we got the other can of paint, and we redid the whole thing and guess what, it was perfect! I guess I confidently picked the wrong color to start with. Isn’t that how life goes? We often confidently make the wrong choice.

    We fixed it! Mission accomplished, even though it did take a little longer to get there, but, if you’ve been reading my blog, I never do things the easy way. Then I would have nothing to write about. There are always second chances and try agains and do overs I eventually get where I want to be.

    And can we just talk about those command strips? They look perfect! Have you seen the videos? Have you read the instructions? Have you used them? What an amazing way to hang things up without putting any nails in the walls. They look like the greatest invention ever! And so practical for renters.

    I was determined not to put any nail holes in the walls because I did that in my last rental house, and it was just a pain to fix all those little nail holes. (little did I know that these stupid command strips would be even a bigger pain)


    When I moved in I bought probably at least 50 of those little commando hooks and strips and I hung paintings and pictures all over my walls. I am one of those people who want their walls full of pictures from when their kids were little. I am NOT one of those organized people who has school pictures from every year for every kid in a nice neat row on their wall although I have ALWAYS have been jealous of those people and wanted to be them.  Mine are just a splattering of my kids’ pictures in no order at all.  The point is I like my walls to be very very decorated.

    I even used those command things to hang up curtain rods! These are amazing I thought. All proud and smug like I usually am. And it will be so simple to take them off when I move out. I probably even patted myself on the back when I was finished hanging everything up.

    And honestly, they worked great. Until I was moving out and it was time to take them all off the walls.

    Well, I don’t know if anyone else has ever tried to remove one of these things, but if you don’t pull that little sticky thing in exactly the right direction and exactly the right angle, half the drywall will come off with it.

    And if you do pull them in the correct way, they will snap off and hit you in the face. The hitting me in the face thing I can take, but those huge holes in my drywall were very upsetting especially since this was the exact thing I was trying to avoid.

    I’m not even kidding! I watched videos and I read directions after the first mess up, and I tried to perfect the technique and maybe half of them came off the way they were supposed to. How am I a well-educated, 50-year-old woman who cannot get these stupid command strips to come off my wall like they’re supposed to? Why did I bother trying to do things the easy way? 50 nail holes would be way easier to fix than this mess.

    So we went to Home Depot, and we got the spackle and the little scraping tools that come with it. I really like the purple color by the way. It’s bright and cheerful and it makes you think this can be fun. I’m always trying to make the best of a bad situation.

    But it’s a lot more difficult than it seems. I mean do people have to go to spackle school for this? I put too much on and then I tried to scrape it a little flatter and then it’s all indented because I scraped too much so then I put some more on, and I don’t want to scrape it too low but now there’s just a big bump. So I scrape it too low again and then I add more and there’s a big bump and I do this repeatedly about five times until I realize I really should just leave the big bump. Which I guess is how it’s supposed to be because then you sand him down after he dries? Redoing and undoing the same spot five times is just going to make this process really long.

    You would think after it dries that it would be pretty easy to sand it flat but it’s not! I thought I sanded it flat and then I walked away, and I looked at it and there was still a big bump! So I sanded it flat again, and then I walked away and then when I looked at it, there was still a bump! How does it look flat one minute and then the next it’s not? “Am I on Candid Camera or something?” I thought. “Is this a big prank?” It wasn’t. Seriously, how do the spackle and sanding guys get it so perfectly flat? It must be a talent. I have a newfound respect for them. This stuff is a lot harder than it looks!

    After trying about 10 times I decided that a little bulge was just fine. Was anybody really going to notice?

    So we did the best we could and we got the correct color out of the shed this time, and painted over those multiple little speckled bulges all over the walls.

    Surprisingly, we did not get charged for them so I think we did a pretty good job of doing it wrong, but still somehow fooling people. I guess sometimes it doesn’t have to be perfect.

    As i said, I was never one for watching those home-improvement shows. I found them boring. Maybe I should start watching them.

    It seems like I’m pretty good at unimproving my house. Maybe watching those shows will improve that.

    Or I should just give up and hire someone who actually knows what they’re doing. But what would be the fun in that?

  • My lawn mower hates me

    You have all seen them. The people who make mowing the lawn look easy. Those people who are just walking peacefully after their lawn mower in their yard. They are walking at a leisurely speed while barely exerting any effort to push their lawn mower. Some are actually even going fast. They make it look effortless. Some even look like they’re running and some even look like they’re enjoying it! I’ve always seen people like that and thought to myself that mowing a lawn is probably easy. Anybody could do it. Even I could do it!

    I call BS on all these happy people mowing their lawn in an effortless manner. Mowing is not easy. Or maybe I’m just really really bad at it. If you’ve been reading my blog, it’s a very good possibility. I’m naturally bad at cooking so I could very well be naturally bad at mowing a lawn. If that’s even a thing. Maybe no one has been bad at mowing a lawn before. Maybe I invented being bad at lawn mowing.

    Before I got separated, ex-husband just always took care of the lawn. He wanted to. He enjoyed it. Or if he didn’t, I didn’t know. It just seemed like a man kind of thing. It’s a man’s job, I thought. The feminist in me is very disappointed in myself at this thought. All the lawn responsibilities just somehow fell on him so for over 10 years I never even thought of lawn care. It never even crossed my mind. He made it look easy, so I figured it couldn’t be that hard.

    In 2021 my husband moved out and here I was with a big old lawn and no idea how to take care of it. As I said, everybody made it look so easy so I thought it would be no problem at all. I thought it would even be FUN! I could do it. I am a strong, independent, intelligent woman, so mowing the lawn would be a piece of cake, right?

    With my head held high, and walking tall and proud, I march right out to the garage and introduce myself to the lawn mower. I explain to him that we were going to be best friends and from now on I would be hanging out with him. I know he probably really liked my ex, but I am actually way more fun I tell him with a wink. I wheel him out in the grass, and I look at him realizing that I have no idea how to start a lawn mower. I watch a YouTube video, but honestly, I don’t know how anyone learns anything from YouTube videos. People always report that they learn so much from watching YouTube videos, but I just don’t. I can’t concentrate that long. I get bored. But still, I sort of watch one and then I’m ready.

    You just pull that little stringie thing, right? That’s how everybody does it in the movies. Simple simple. So, I pull the string and nothing happens. I talk to the lawn mower nicely and say, “look, I know you and my ex had a great relationship, but it’s just going to be us from now on so let’s make the best of it.”  And I high five his cute little lawn mower side. Then I try again, and I try again, and I try again. I will not be deterred, I think to myself, but the darn thing won’t start. I look up and see my neighbor across the street. I hate asking for help but I’m out of options.

    I walk over there and ask him very nicely if he will teach me how to use my lawn mower. He comes over and he says first of all, I should change out of flip-flops. You’re not supposed to mow your lawn in flip flops?!! I do everything in flip-flops. That doesn’t make any sense, but I’ll listen to him. (A couple weeks later I meet a friend for lunch and I was telling her the story and she told me it’s absolutely fine to mow your yard in the flip flops. Ever since then I always do. I have one pair of lawnmowing flip-flops. My feet are always grass stained and disgusting when I come in that they need a good scrubbing. It’s all worth it to not have to wear real shoes. Anyway, that’s probably too much information so let’s get back to my story.)

    My neighbor shows me how to check the gas. I feel a little silly because I did not know how to check for gas and I didn’t even think of it.  But the mower had gas so that wasn’t the problem. Then he shows me how to push this little button up front. Who knew you had to push a little button? My YouTube video didn’t tell me that. And then he shows me how you pull the string (just like I’d been doing) and it starts right up. That’s easy! I thank him and then I go inside to change out of my flip-flops.

    I come back out and check the gas even though we checked it together and it’s fine, I pump the little button, I pull the string and nothing happens. I pull it again and again and again and finally I have to go back over there and ask my neighbor for more help. It was just that I wasn’t putting enough muscle into pulling the little string. After I learned that, I successfully mowed my lawn for the first time. I thought I was going to die from heat stroke, but I was so proud of myself you would think I had just climbed Mount Everest. And can we talk about how hard it is to turn the lawnmower around?! Why is it so hard to turn?  I struggled while backing up and going forward and backing it up again. It is like I was making a five-point turn after every row.

    That mower is really hard to push, and my yard is a lot bigger than it looks. I remember my ex-husband complaining about it for years and saying we need a ride on mower. I told him he was just being a wimp, and we did not need a ride on mower. I told him our lawn was not that big, and he could easily do it. Well, now I kind of see his point, but I would never admit that and please don’t ever tell him that if you know him. We don’t want men going around thinking they’re right about things. Kidding! I love men. They are right sometimes.

    And that is how my lawnmowing adventure began over four years ago. You would think I would get the hang of it. You would think it would be easier. You would think the lawn mower likes me by now. You would think we are best friends. But for some reason, it’s just gotten harder and harder and harder. There was a point when the lawn mower wouldn’t even start for me. I would go out there ready to tackle the lawn and I would try and try and try to start the lawn mower and then I would just give up and go back inside. When my brother got home, I would tell him that the lawn mower was just not starting, and he’d go out there and start it on the first try. I tried not to take it personally, but it really felt like my lawn mower just didn’t like me. But that doesn’t make sense because everyone likes me! Does my lawnmower not realize how cool I am? I say the same thing about my children. Children and lawnmowers. They really just don’t appreciate us. Someday they will, I am sure.

    I swear that the grass grows six inches in one day around here. Every time I turn around the lawn needs to be mowed again. But also, it rains every day, so the grass is wet. I know they always say, don’t mow wet grass, and I know that, but the grass is always wet because it’s always raining. If I didn’t mow the grass when it is wet I would NEVER be able to mow the grass. I swear the backyard is up to my knees after three days. In this day and age, with all the advanced technology, how has no one invented a lawn mower that can cut wet grass?!? That is what the world really needs. And a few other things too, of course.

    A couple of days ago there was a break in the rain, and I saw neighbors out mowing their lawn with no trouble so I figured I could do it too. Mine was looking pretty bad. If they can do it, I can do it I thought. I went out and checked in with the grass. It seemed dry. It felt dry. It will be fine, I thought.

    But it didn’t work out as I planned. Every minute or two the lawnmower would die because it would get stopped up with wet grass. I would have to flip it over, pull the soggy wet gross grass out with my hands and throw it somewhere.  I would have to give it a little pep talk, wait five minutes, and try again. This went on for about half an hour, and I realized in my mind that I was actually wasting my time but I couldn’t let myself give up. I couldn’t even get a whole row done before it would die. It’s like the definition of two steps forward and one step back.  Except in this case, it could have been one step forward and two steps back.

    Is something wrong with my lawn mower? Am I doing it wrong? Have I been mowing my lawn for four years and I still don’t know how? Why is it so hard to mow a lawn? Does anyone else have these problems or is it only me? I have never seen anyone struggling in their yard like I do.

    Finally I found a trick! If I mow 6 inches, pull back 2 inches and lean it on its back wheels, then the grass sort of flies out from under it, and it doesn’t die. But that’s getting very little done and exerting a lot of energy. My hands are also sore and blistered after mowing that way. But is there any other way? I need to get this lawn mowed because the weather app says it’s going to rain for the next nine days. That’s not a surprise. 

    So I continue with that strategy for a row or two, but then once again it dies, so I clean it out, give it a little pep talk and a pat on the back, wait five minutes, and try to start it again. Every time this happens, it takes me at least four tries before it actually starts. But I get it done.

    I was mowing like this last night in my front yard, and I saw the neighbors across the street sitting in their garage, having a drink and watching their dog and kids play in the front yard. I hope they weren’t watching me. It’s really embarrassing that I’m so bad at mowing a lawn. I hope I gave them a good laugh, but I think probably they just felt really sorry for me.

    My mower is really hard to push. Even though it’s one of those self-propelling ones where you pull in the handle and the front wheels turn. I didn’t figure that out for the first five times I mowed the lawn, and I was really worried I had lost my muscle mass or something. But even with that feature, sometimes I don’t think I’m going to be able to push it. My lawn is lumpy. It’s not one of those perfectly flat lawns. We had trees and bushes that got knocked down from the hurricane and in those spots it’s not completely flat. So sometimes when I get to a lump, no matter how hard I push, the lawn mower doesn’t budge.  I push with all my might but it’s at this point I always worry if this is it, if this is when my lawnmowing career comes to an end. I wonder if I will just have to leave this lawn mower at the bottom of this lump in my front yard forever because it just can’t be moved. But then after pep talks to both me and my lawn mower, and a little extra energy, it goes over the lump. Until the next time. Does anyone else have a lumpy yard or a hard time actually pushing their lawn mower? You can’t even really see the lumps until you get to one with the lawn mower. And I’m a strong woman. I carried my kids up to bed until they were probably eight or nine even. But even my muscles are sometimes no match for lawn mower.

    I listen to books on tape or podcasts while I mow to try to make it more enjoyable. While I was mowing this last time, I was listening to Wild by Cheryl Strayed. She was talking about how difficult, how excruciating, how exhausting it was to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I said girl, you don’t know anything about difficult and exhausting until you’ve tried to mow this lawn on Province Drive. At that moment, I honestly thought it would be easier to hike the Pacific Crest Trail alone for 100 days than it is to mow this freaking lawn. Looking back, I changed my mind about that but at the moment, that’s honestly how I felt.

    I FINALLY get the front yard mowed although it probably took 20 times longer than it should have.  I sit back with the feeling of accomplishment. Real accomplishment. Probably how Cheryl Strayed felt after completing her 1000-mile hike on the PCT.

    The next morning when I walk out and there are all those clumps of dried grass on my lawn from when I had to stop and clean it out. They have dried and turned brown so quickly. You know those little horse drawn carriage rides downtown? You know how sometimes there are big piles of horse poop on the ground before they clean them? That’s exactly what the dried grass looks like on my lawn. Big piles of horse poop. What do you do with that? I don’t see that on anyone else’s lawn! Am I supposed to shovel them up? And put them where?  In a bag? Do you just leave them? What’s the proper protocol here. What does everybody else do and why don’t I see horse poop looking dried grass clumps on anyone else’s lawn?!? Once again, am I doing this wrong?

    I was thinking about that bag that you put on the back of the lawnmower. I have one, but I’ve never put it on. I don’t really understand how it works. Wouldn’t it get in my way? Am I supposed to be using that? Anyway, I wonder if that is the problem. I should probably google it, but I never do. I just keep doing it this way.

    Why do we do things the hard way? Why are we set in our ways and stuck in our habits that we don’t even Google if there is an easier way. And if there is an easier way, will we actually try it? Does it take more effort to change to an easier way than just keep doing things as you’ve been doing them?

    Is this kind of thing like life? Where you look at Facebook and everything looks so easy for everyone else? Is mowing the lawn like that? Something that people just pretend is easy when really it’s hard as heck? Is this just something that no one talks about? Like how hard parenting is or marriage is? Or doing your hair? Or wearing not flip flops? Or is it only me? Or is it my lawn mower? Is mowing your lawn hard for anyone else?!? If not, just ignore this post and I will keep blaming the lawn mower.

  • There is a Hamster in My Closet

    Our dog recently passed away. It’s heartbreaking to watch your kids so upset and you will do anything to alleviate the smallest bit of heartache for them, so when my son asked for a hamster, what did we do? Against all better judgement, we ran out and got him a hamster… and all the accessories… and the largest cage around, because my sweet son was worried the cheaper cage would not be big enough. This didn’t seem like the time to point out that it’s called a hamster cage, so, obviously it’s big enough for a hamster. We got a rat cage instead. Why do rats need more room? Because of their tail?

    Oh, hamster memories. Hamsters are not my friend. This is not our first hamster. We’ve had three. The first was named Sammy G and, if I remember correctly, I think I forgot to feed him… and he died… and my oldest son found him. He was so traumatized he had to stay home from school that day. I really thought I fed him, but maybe I didn’t. Maybe he didn’t like my cooking either.

    A couple years later, my youngest wanted a hamster for his birthday. As you’ve come to realize, I cannot say no to my kids, so we went out and we got him a hamster. He named him Cupcake. Cupcake was a sweet little guy, and he would let the kids hold him and kiss him. The boys loved Cupcake, and they played with him all the time. I think they played a little too rough with him because it got to the point where Cupcake just turned grumpy. He didn’t want to be held or even touched. Those sweet little boys still tried though but he had developed a bad hamster attitude.

    There was a little latch that opened on the top of Cupcake’s cage, and I constantly reminded the kids to make sure it was closed all the way. Well, I’m sure you can guess what happened.

    One morning I sent the boys off to school, and I went about my morning chores, which did involve feeding the hamster. See? I can learn from my mistakes. Sometimes. Well, the latch was not closed, and the hamster was gone. (insert Brita’s worried face here)

    At this point, we had two dogs in our house and one cat. Two dogs that love to chase and eat little critters like a hamster. One was a hunting dog and the other a pit bull. I was sure there was no way that Cupcake could have survived being free in that house. I imagined my sweet little doggies swallowing him whole. I was so sad about Cupcake and felt like a failure of a hamster mom. Again!

    Of course I searched the whole house thoroughly while calling his name loudly. Did I honestly think that would help? He’ll be hiding somewhere and when he heard his name he would come bounding out and jump into my arms? Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

    After I searched the house, I sat each one of the pets down and questioned them. They all swore up and down and on my life that they had not seen Cupcake and had absolutely not eaten Cupcake. I kind of believed the cat because, if it was her, there would’ve been a body somewhere. Unless she had been in cahoots with one of the dogs. She kills it, he eats it, so I will never know what they were up to. Anyway, they all were very convincing, so I really had no further leads at this point.

    I completely freaked out, I called my then husband at work, and I told him we had to find a replacement. I told him we could not tell the kids that the hamster is missing and most likely eaten by one of their beloved other pets. We would have to call or go to every pet store in all of Wilmington and find a Russian dwarf hamster that looked just like Cupcake.

    You would think I would’ve learned my lesson with the pet beta fish the boys had. It kept dying and I didn’t have the heart to teach them about death yet, so we kept replacing that beta fish. Sometimes it was a slightly different color, slightly different size, but we told the boys that the food we gave him was magic, color-changing food. I think that’s actually what it’s called, but I don’t think it really changes the color that much, but the boys believed it. They had the only beta fish in the world that lived for 10 years. And even at the end, we didn’t have the heart to tell them, so we said he was at the fish hospital. Then he ended up staying there for a few more years.

    But back to Cupcake. Since we obviously did not learn our lesson, or I obviously did not learn my lesson (my then husband was not completely on board with any of these shenanigans, but he went along), I started calling pet stores. Do you know how impossibly hard it is to find a Russian dwarf hamster in Wilmington that looks exactly like Cupcake?!? First of all, we need more pet stores in Wilmington, and second of all, they all need to stock up on Russian dwarf hamsters. After hours and hours, we found one Russian dwarf hamster.

    He was half the size of Cupcake, and he had a mellow temperament, which was the opposite of Cupcake, but, beggars can’t be choosers, right? I put him in Cupcake’s cage, and then just acted like everything was normal. Whistling happily as I swept the floor and stuff.

    There was definitely some questioning.

    “Is Cupcake OK?”

    “Cupcake looks smaller.”

    “Cupcake is nice, now.”

    Those were some of the comments from my confused children, but I just brushed them all off.

     I said, “It’s fine, it’s fine. He’s lost a little weight. He’s been working out. He joined a hamster gym. Also, I had a big talk with him and he decided that life is too short to be grumpy, so he decided to be nice now.”

    They were a little skeptical, but I did a good job of convincing them and life went on as normal. Whew! I thought to myself as a high fived myself. You sure got away with that one! (sounds like famous last words, right?)

    72 hours later, I was putting my youngest son to bed. We read books in his bed together and then I would stay with him in his bed until he fell asleep. We picked our books out, and I was standing next to his bed about to get in when I felt something run over my foot! I nearly screamed but kept my composure because I didn’t want to scare my son. I was worried it was a cockroach or something like that, but I looked down and sure enough, there is original Cupcake! Looking fat and healthy and running right across the floor.

    How in the heck did he survive? He got upstairs and over to the opposite side of the house!?! He was gone 72 hours, without food or water! I acted all normal, but I watched him scurry into the corner of the room behind a dresser and a few paintings that we had been meaning to hang up.

    Of course, I couldn’t mention anything to my son, so I lay in bed with him with my eyes wide open fixed on that corner trying to make sure Cupcake didn’t escape. It seemed like that night it took him forever to fall asleep. When he finally did, I tiptoed out of the room and got a container for cupcake. I crawled back in the room with my phone flashlight and slithered around on the floor on my belly between the paintings and behind the dresser until I finally caught Cupcake!

    I immediately gave Cupcake some food, and that little hamster water bottle. I had to hold it upside down into the container because there was nowhere to attach it to the sides. Please drink, little guy. I can’t sit here all night, holding the water bottle in your container.

    I couldn’t believe that he had survived 72 hours without food or water and with predators lurking. I pictured it like he was in a video game, trying to avoid the vicious dogs and cat. I didn’t know what to do with him, so I hid him in my closet and shut the door.

    I immediately woke up my then husband.

    “Quick! Get up! I need your help!”

    I shook him awake.

    “What? What?”
    He pounces out of bed all ready to fight a burglar.

    “Come here! I’m here!”
    I dragged him to my closet and I open it.

    “There is a hamster in my closet!”
    -me

    OK.
    -then husband

    There is a hamster in my closet!!!
    -me harsher whisper

    Yes, I see that.
    -then husband

    There’s a hamster in my closet! A hamster in my closet!
    -me again with more urgency in my loud whisper

    You’ve said that.
    -then husband

    It’s Cupcake! He’s alive.
    -me

    Great!
    -then husband

    Not great! Now we have two hamsters!
    -me with desperation in my voice

    OK, not great. I’m going back to bed.
    -then husband

    What?!? No! You can’t go back to bed. There is a hamster in my closet!
    -me

    I am aware of that. But it’s four in the morning. I’m going to bed.
    -then husband

    How can you sleep when there’s a hamster in my closet?
    -me

    I can sleep just fine.
    -then husband

    Well, I can’t sleep with a hamster in my closet!
    -me

    Well, then put him in my closet.
    -then husband

    (Why do we ask men for help and advice?)

    But then there will be a hamster in your closet.
    -me

    I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the middle of the night. I have to work tomorrow. What good is it going to do if we both just sit up because there’s a hamster in your closet? How does that solve anything? I’m going to bed.
    -then husband

    I started to cry.

    Of course I was appalled! How could he sleep at a time like this? Rude!

    Looking back now it makes sense that there was really nothing to be done about it at four in the morning, but at that moment, I had to solve the hamster in my closet problem.

    I paced the floor thinking…

    Should I replace Original Cupcake? No, the boys will be even more confused that Cupcake got fat and turned mean overnight.

    Can you return a hamster?

    Can you return the wrong hamster?

    It’s fine, it’s fine, I told myself. I will just give away a hamster. There’s got to be somebody out there who wants a free hamster. I will just hop on Facebook and all the other pages I’m on and offer a free hamster. It will be great. When I wake up in the morning, there will be tons of replies of people who want this hamster. I could bring it to them when the boys are at school and the problem will be solved. I patted myself on the back for being such a genius and went to bed.

    Do you want to know how many replies I had when I woke up the next morning from people wanting a free hamster? None! Zero! Not one!

    That cannot be right. I thought my Messenger would just be flooded. Is my Facebook working? I’ll give it a couple more hours. I did post in the middle of the night and people are just waking up now and checking their Facebook so I’m sure by the afternoon there will be a list a mile long of people just begging for this free hamster. I will just have to keep him alive in my closet until then.

    I kept peeking my head in the closet when the boys weren’t looking.

    “Are you doing OK? Are you hungry? Do you want me to hold that little upside-down water bottle in there again for you for five minutes? Can I get you anything else? Hey- maybe you should write a book about surviving 72 hours with the predators in the Nicol house! Something to think about while you wait. Just hang on! I’m going to find you the best little hamster home ever!” (I think I even blew him a little kiss to show him how serious I was)

    Well, nobody wanted a free hamster. Unbelievable, right? So, after many tumultuous back-and-forth conversations with myself, I decided that I just needed to own up to what I did and tell the boys the truth. After all, won’t they just be thrilled that Cupcake is not dead? And super proud of his survival skills. We can get him on some reality survival show or something.

    “So you lied to us?” my oldest asked.

    “Well, that’s a bit of a harsh word… Something like that…. Sort of along those lines…. but I only did it because I didn’t want you guys to be sad if Cupcake was dead. But he’s not dead! Yay!” (Hands up in the air to convey my excitement, hoping it will rub off on them)

    “But, it is not OK to lie. Mommy should not have done that. Everyone makes mistakes. She will do better next time she kills a pet of yours.” OK, I only said that last part in my mind. Not out loud.

    But now, I told them they could each have a hamster. Cupcake would go back to my youngest and my oldest can have this new hamster which he immediately named Tyrone. Perfect! Cupcake and Tyrone. Maybe they will be best friends! Can two hamsters go in the same cage? Of course they can. There’s more than one hamster in those cages at the pet store, but just to be sure we called the pet store to ask.

    We were told that most likely they can get along, but sometimes hamsters just don’t get along with each other. The best thing to do was put them both in an empty bathtub together and see how they get along. Well, this sounds cute, doesn’t it?

    It wasn’t. The boys and I put these two little hamsters in the bathtub with smiles on our faces expecting some brotherly love stuff to go on. Well, it was like WW-whatever fighting (I can never remember the letters) where literally they just get completely beaten up. Cupcake went at sweet little Tyrone like he was a rabid dog who hadn’t eaten in weeks. I was literally scared to put my hand in there because I was sure I would lose a few fingers. Personally, I would’ve let them just fight to the death to save my fingers. I know it sounds cruel, but I’m really going to need those in life.

    BUT I had two innocent little boys standing next to me with eyes wide literally screaming in fear (I think I was screaming too) so I did what all good moms would do and risked my fingers and hands for my children. That might be the bravest thing I have ever done. I reached in and grabbed little Tyrone out of the bathtub. All three of us sat on the bathroom floor crying, inspecting Tyrone for injuries. It must’ve been my quick reaction, but somehow he survived unscathed. Physically. Not sure what emotional damage was caused.

    “Well! Looks like we get to go to the pet store and buy another hamster cage!”

    The boys were thrilled and had to buy every single hamster accessory, so I walked out of there after dropping $300. That is what I get for lying to my kids.

    Now I have to keep two hamsters alive and change their stinky cages regularly. Did I tell you that I never wanted hamsters? And actually, I think I’m allergic to them.

  • My Biggest Fan



    There are plenty who pretend to like my cooking. Well, not plenty, maybe one. My brother. I can’t really tell if he pretends to like it, or if he has no taste buds. Either way, there is only one who really likes my cooking. LOVES my cooking. My biggest fan. No matter what I’m making he sits right by me, tail wagging, drool dripping out of his mouth, encouraging me the whole way. I ask him, “Does this look right?” He wags his tail faster and drools harder in response. These are my babies helping me cook.

    My other dog likes my cooking too, but she will sniff it first, she will daintily lick it, she will chew it slowly. But my biggest fan, he’ll gobble it in one bite. I don’t even think he chews it. I don’t even think he smells it. He thinks it is THAT good. He is my biggest cheerleader, my ego booster, my garbage disposal. He is my biggest fan. But my biggest fan is gone. He died today and I think I might just have to give up cooking once and for all. No one will ever love my cooking like he did.

    He was the most disobedient dog you have ever met. He would not listen to a thing you said. With a name like Boss, what did we expect? Boss, go pee! Nothing! Boss, come here! Nothing! Boss, please stay on the dog sheet and off the pillow.  I would wake up the next morning to this…

    We would often tell him he’s not the boss, but he would just give us a look and say, “it’s my name”. He had no ears. They had been clipped lower than anyone had ever seen before. The joke was, he would do a little ear swipe, and say, “I have no ears. I can’t hear you,” with a little dog shrug. Some people might get frustrated with his lack of obedience and his bad listening skills, but we just accepted him for him. Boss the bad listener. That would make a great children’s book.

    He had hip and joint issues from abuse when he was little, and he was such a klutzy dog. He walked with a little limp and always had trouble with stairs and things like getting in the car. One time I built a little garden in the backyard and put chicken wire around. I was sure that it would keep him out of the garden. He couldn’t step over the chicken wire. The next day, though, there he is, inside my garden sleeping on the peppers. We got a bigger, more sturdy fence and put it around. I was sure he could not get over this one. Sure enough, the next day he is in my garden, sitting on my basil.

    My brother asked “is this when we get a bigger fence?” And I said, “no, this is when we give up and let Boss win. If he wants to be in the garden so badly that he will scale fences with his bad hips, we will let him. We are going to kill the plants anyway so now at least we can blame him.” I’m sure you’re not shocked, but the garden did not make it. Of course it was the dog’s fault. Wait – Is that terrible? Blaming a dog when he’ just died? I take it back. Killing gardens has always been my thing. I take full responsibility. He was probably helping by eating all the weeds. My little gardener. I can’t find a picture of him sitting in the garden but here he is helping us make it.


    He was the most beautiful dog ever. Everybody loved him. The sweet little neighbor girl would drop everything when she saw him. She would hop off her bike or her scooter, leave her toys and run to Boss. She would wrap her little body around him and kiss him all over his face. I can still hear her cute little voice saying, “Oh, I love you, Boss.” He would smile wide, loving all the attention.


    He loved everyone. He would walk right up to anyone and let them pet him. He would also get in any car! One time we were walking at this lake by our house and there was a car with the door open because the owner was loading kayaks. Boss jumped right into the open car before we could stop him. He sat down happily on the seat. “Well, I don’t mind if I do! I love car rides,” he said. The owner was shocked and not happy at all. We apologized profusely as we dragged him out of her car. “He is friendly,” we kept saying, like that makes a difference. This woman does not want a random pit-bull in her car even if he is friendly.

    Boss seemed confused. What?!? If you see an open door, take it! When the opportunity arises, jump on it. Or in, in this case. Wise Boss words to live by. I mean unless you are a kid. Don’t get into a stranger’s car if you are a kid. Or if you are an adult even. Ok, maybe not the best Boss advice at all.

    People would stop us on the street and comment on him. Much to the chagrin of our other dog, Leia, who always got ignored. She didn’t mind though. She was happy to give Boss the glory. Maybe she’ll write a book. It’ll be called Living in Boss’ shadow.

    Boss was a bully. A beautiful and sweet bully. He would steal Leia’s toys, treats, food right from her and she would happily let him. She would do anything for Boss. She loved him and he loved her. Even though he pretended he didn’t. He would eye roll at her excessive barking at every person, butterfly or bird that passed our house.

    When we first got Boss he would get up and run to Leia when she would bark out the front window.

    “What?!? What is it?!?? Is everything ok?!? Do you need my muscles?!?!” Boss would ask all worried but ready to save the day.

    “I saw a leaf!” Leia would respond, all proud of herself. Boss would sigh and go back to his spot on the couch. He learned quickly and when Leia would bark, he would lift his head, give me a look, roll his eyes, and go back to sleep. We left Leia to protect the house herself from squirrels, lizards and neighborhood children.

    Leia is not great with other dogs and we always tell her we never thought she’d have a friend. But she had a friend. A best friend. She had a Boss. I’m not sure how she’ll live without him. I’m not sure how any of us will.


    Car rides were his favorite things. He’s an old frail dog but if you said the words car ride he would run into things and knock them over like a bull in a China shop. Or a kid in a mosh pit. He was so excited. We all learned to brace ourselves. Leia especially ducked and moved out of his way. I learned this lesson the hard way when Boss accidentally headbutted me in his excitement and gave me a fat lip.

    He loved to stick his head out the window, his little lip flap flapping in the wind. A look of pure happiness on his face. Dog drool smudging up the car window. I will never wash the drool off my car window. We always said we wished the whole world could be as happy as Boss with his head out the car window. The world would be a much better place if people found joy in small things like sticking their heads out the window. Oh, and pup cups. That guy loved a pup cup.

    He helped me with dishes every night by licking each one clean. He was meticulous about doing the dishes. He takes his job very seriously. Such a big helper. If you like a clean dog slobbery plate. I secretly cleaned them after him when he wasn’t looking but please don’t tell him that. He loves being a helper.

    He would definitely let you know what he wanted. If there was pizza on top of the oven, he would sit right next to the oven, all tall and proud, looking up at the pizza and then back at me, and repeatedly humph until you noticed him. He’d make a little “humph” sound when he wanted your attention. He would do that with treats too. Sit right by the counter where the treats are and humph until you gave him one.

    He would communicate in an almost human-like way. While we sat and ate our dinner, he would lay on the floor and howl and whine and ask for food. It was a back-and-forth conversation. We would tell him that he must wait patiently, and then he would howl at us. We would tell him that we know he wants tacos, but he must wait until we finish ours, and then he would howl back at us. It was a little annoying but also hilarious and now we miss it. Dinners are too quiet. “Don’t eat it all,” he would say. “I just HAVE to have some.”

    At the end of the meals, we make a little plate for him and Leia. He would devour it in two minutes, give me a wink over his shoulder and say, “Delicious! You did it again, mom. You are the BEST cook ever.” And then he would go and eat Leia’s plate. And she would step aside and let him.

    I’ve never loved a dog like I loved Boss. They say there is no love greater than a child and their dog/pet. I disagree and think adult dog love is much stronger. Maybe because as adults we know how hard it is to find true unconditional love.

    Live your life like Boss. Forget the rules. Forget listening to others. Just do what makes you happy. Overcome obstacles to lay on peppers. Find the sunshine. Stick your head out the window every now and then. Humph until you get noticed. And get in a stranger’s car when the opportunity arises. Well, maybe not that one.

  • The Summer I Could Cook

    About seven years ago, my brother graduated from high school. He lived in Florida and he needed a little change of scenery for the summer. He wanted to get away and get his thoughts together and try to figure out what he was doing with his life. That’s the big question all 18-year-olds have. So, we decided he would come stay with me for the summer. I had a friend who owned an electric company and was looking for workers, so I got him a summer job. The plan was he would come for the summer and then go back to Florida and most likely go to community college there.

    Honestly, I do not remember what I fed my kids before my brother came to stay with me, but it must have been something, right? I mean they are still alive. It might’ve been those Purdue chicken nuggets. They are technically not frozen. They are sort of fresh and refrigerated so they seemed healthier to me. I was also pretty good at making Kraft mac & cheese, and really good at making those Bob Evans microwave mashed potatoes. I think I also excelled at toasting a piece of bread, then putting a slice of super processed American cheese on it and cutting it up in little squares. I think I did try to throw in a piece of fruit and some frozen peas sometimes. It must’ve been something like that.

    But that summer, when my brother was here, I was going to pretend I could cook. Just for the summer. I could fake it for three months. I was excited because I always wanted to be one of those people who cook. Even a fake person who could cook. Maybe after three months of pretending I might really turn into one of those people who can cook. Spoiler alert, I didn’t. But I really did a great job of faking it. Kind of.

    I must first share that my brother has never really had a home-cooked meal. He probably has once or twice when he went to friends’ houses but as far as his own house and growing up, he never had a home-cooked meal. They went out for every single meal. Going out to a restaurant was the norm for him and he was actually quite sick of it.  I already had that going for me because first, he had no idea what a home-cooked meal was or what it was really supposed to taste like so that definitely worked to my advantage. I’m not saying my food would be better than a restaurant but maybe it comes with different expectations. This is not a restaurant! Lower your expectations!

    Another advantage I had was that he liked everything. Everything.  I made lemon chicken that summer that was so sour it made everyone’s face pucker when they tried it.  But not my brother, he ate it and said it was good.  Hey- maybe he doesn’t like everything… Maybe he was just being polite.

    Every meal was so stressful because I had to act like it was simple for me. Faking who you are every day is exhausting.  I had to act like I was easily whipping everything together like Martha Stewart when really I was sweating bullets, trying not to be intimidated by the meat, and just praying that the meal came out edible. I was up late Googling recipes and then reading them over and over and over memorizing them so it would look effortless when I made them. I was also hoping that during this experiment I would find something that my kids would like. That didn’t happen. But the summer went on and I became good at faking I was a person who can cook and I think my brother actually believed me.  Or he’s good at faking it too.

    Time flies as it often does and finally, it was mid-August. My brother was good company, and the kids loved him. I would miss my brother very much BUT I also was a little relieved to be able to go back to being the woman who cannot cook. After much discussion though, it was decided that my brother would not return back to Florida. He would stay here and work and go to the local community college.

    I called my mom to share the news with her, and I was crying hysterically when I told her. She replied, “You love Lucas! You love having him there! Why in the world are you crying?”

    I said, between sniffles and sobs, “Now I’m going to have to pretend to cook forever!”

    But I didn’t. I came clean and told my brother I cannot cook.  Maybe he knew?  I like to think not because I faked it so well.  He didn’t care about my cooking, and I saw that it was silly to try to be something I am not to impress someone.  Yes, I know that is a lesson I should have learned 20 years ago.

    Now, six years since that summer, my brother and I are a cooking failure team.  We have our own little failure club.  Of course, anyone is welcome to join but no one does.  Does anyone really want to be a failure?  He’s my little sous chef and we cook our failures together. We hold our breath in anticipation, watching my kids take the first bite.  After three bites they declare they don’t like it, go back upstairs to play video games, and my brother and I high five and shrug.  We’ll try again tomorrow we say. You can’t win them all.  Or any in this case.