"You're not an 'asshole whisperer;'" also, dinner

Hilarity

Two hours ago, I'm in the midst of my annual physical. I love my internist. She is hilarious and smart and a great doctor, and I enjoy seeing her so much that sometimes I think I should find a new doctor just so she and I can hang out. But then I'm like, "It's hard to find a great internist, girl. Don't bite the hand." And so the years pass.

In any case, we're in the talky part of the exam -Yes, this happens! She asks how you are, what life is like! - and we end up chatting about less-good friends and naysayers and general poos and how the older we get, the less patience we have for them. At some point, if you're a relatively sane, nice person, you just have to be who you are and not worry quite so much about those who aren't jazzed about you.

"I mean, you're not an Asshole Whisperer," Doctor She says.

I full-on guffawed, and really, she did too, and I asked with real admiration, "Is that term of your own making? Because if it is, you should have cards made."

"I think Brené Brown said it. I love her. Do you know her? Maybe it was jackass..."

I am still literally LOL'ing, and just for clarification, the actual quote is, "Don't try to win over the haters; you are not a jackass whisperer."

Priceless. I'm going to use "asshole whisperer" but the point remains the same, and it's a good one.

Dinner

180° to last night's dinner. Thank you NY Times Dining. I made Melissa Clark's Grilled Skirt Steak and David Tanis' Griddled Corn Cakes with Spicy Salsa.

I cannot tell you the love I feel for griddled corn items and their steamed and fried kin. A good hush puppy dunked in maple syrup makes me deeply happy. Corn cakes of any stripe please me in a seriously comforting way. Tamales? There are no words. Moist cornbread? Excellent. None of that dry, crumbly shit. When I saw Tanis' riff on corn fritters yesterday, I decided then and there to make them for dinner.

Now, he serves his with a bell-pepper tomato salsa, but I wasn't totally in the mood for that. Plus, T hates raw bell peppers. So instead I made a scrumptious, summery fruit salsa with diced peaches and raspberries, scallions, lots of lime juice, salt and a hefty dash of cayenne. That plus crumbled Bulgarian feta (very creamy, not insanely tangy) made a marvelous topping for the corn cakes. T is very meh about the very corn products I described above, so I ate many more of these than he did which worked out well. For me.

We had plenty of steak so carnivore husband was fine. The marinade for the meat was wonderful: basil, lemon thyme, peperoncino, garlic, olive oil... I wish I'd saved some of it to serve with the finished product.

Though I have dealt with most of the tomatoes from last week, I have a couple beautiful beefsteaks left. Just one was needed for this salad. Isn't it beautiful?

Oh Mah Gah

People, we have reached that point of summer where each of us seems to be devolving into punchy-gaga batshitness. The kids are playing an incredibly stupid game they just invented. It's called Toucan and involves my couch, one of their "easy chairs" and two kids in underwear jumping over and into each other and then falling down. Obviously they've each already sustained injuries -  we had to ice Oliver's butt - but have returned to the game immediately because they are that smart. Today I gave Jack $5 for lunch because, merciful god, I figured out two days before the end that he can buy lunch at camp. He bought onions, pickles, tomatoes and strawberry soup. What?

"Jack, you have to eat some fat. Where is the fat in that?"

"Fat happens tomorrow, Mom."

I guess that's better than packing a lunch, but still.

He is now threatening me about a Magic Treehouse book-on-CD. "Now or never, Mom. I want it tonight. Otherwise I'm gonna throw away one of your favorite magazines." He has no idea how helpful that would actually be. I had already put the CD in Oliver's room. Tough doo-doo, man. And PS, why can't kids ever just ask each other, "Hey, can we trade?" Why all the middleman shit? Never gets them anywhere. Again, it's obvious that summer has helped them become smarter.

I took away all of his allowance chips for tomorrow. Fun.

Meanwhile, Oliver put his little man part on me one too many times and he is now under life-threat of losing Pete the Cat for double infinity.

One of my best girlfriends, C of two daughters, texted me recently in an equally batshit way. "I just told Oldest Girl that she was being annoying. She said, 'I like to be annoying; then I'm the center of attention.'"

People, seriously?!

I have come to realize that my life is not yet ready for childcarelessness. As in, no babysitters or relief at bedtime at least once a week is b.a.d. for this mama.

Another friend tweeted me this and the world shifted back into slightly better balance. A British friend wrote me today and said could appreciate my being "an extreme fan" of Benedict's. Love the way she put that.

Tom walks in and I say, "Did you see that Benedict's Hamlet sold out more quickly than did Jay-Z and Bey's tour?"

"No, because I do not live on the Benedict news feed." Hmph.

Holy Melanzane

Ok, not an exact rhyme, but what rhymes with eggplant? Melanzane has much more going for it as a word. Meh-lahn-zahn-ay. So much prettier than egg-plant. Melanzane lilts, it rolls and sings somewhat seductively. Egg-plant makes me think of the sound that must be made when a large elephant sits down. Why am I going on about eggplant? Well, because friend M is away and asked if I would "do her the favor of eating from her garden." Um, yes! She and her fam have an incredibly productive plot that's smaller than my dining room table. I mean, talk about super-farmers. Their microfarm has tidy rows that maintain their cute little mounds as plants thrive like Jack's bean stalk. It's unreal.

M said there might be a few eggplant ready by today and also the herbs need pruning. Good god, people, look at this! We're having eggplant involtini tonight with homemade tomato sauce from friend A's tub o' toms. I also swiped a handful of sage as well as some basil to make plum-basil jam today. I am thanking the goddess of fruit that the peaches I picked on Friday are not yet quite ripe enough to deal with. Whew. I overpicked to a slight degree. Mercifully, the raspberries have thus far been happy in the fridge. Today I'll put them up too!

Look what I made for dinner last night. Apparently bucatini with fresh tomato sauce is the only pasta I can successfully make with regularity. So, again, but who's complaining!?

I am still high as a kite re: Benedict. This morning, Jack asked, "Just why do you think Benedict so much, Mom? I mean, you're the greatest mom ever but why?" I blushed and had no real answer. Think I stammered something like, "Well, you'll really like and admire people too as you grow. And also he's so cute." And I then ran out of the kitchen. So embarrassing.