Waxing Poetic About Brownies, Makeup Mischief

We had brownies the other night.

When it comes to dieting, I'm my own worst enemy. I'm simply too good a baker for our own good.

Especially if it involves chocolate.

I'm not bragging when I say this because it's a fact. I've been told I make a killer brownie.

Often with the help of Ghiradelli, but nonetheless, by adding my own secret ingredients I make them truly my own concoction.

My family gets positively giddy about brownies.

Especially moist and chewy, fresh-from-the-oven brownies.

Especially when I made a 9x13 batch in a 9 x9 pan (so our ginormous modest brownie consumption didn't make us feel quiet so bad about totally blowing our diet.

As it happened, we were watching Pride & Prejudice (the A&E version) while eating said brownies.

It was sheer bliss.

But after eating all that chocolaty goodness, one simply has to ask...

Got milk?

(Or as Mr. Darcy might have put it, "Have you any milk?")

Brownies, by nature, simply must be accompanied by milk. They are like the tides are to the ocean. The scent to the flower. They simply wouldn't be the same without it.

And so, when my husband posed this question to me, I went in search of some.

And found that our older son had beat us to it.

The last of it.

Which was akin to torture, I might add.

I know we're a tad late, but we can't seem to get that boy off the bottle, lol.

He's addicted to milk, I tell you!

Which also explains the copious amounts of milk we seem to go through in this household.

And him not even having gone through his summer growth spurt yet! (We are SO in for it!)

We're seriously thinking about moving to the country and looking into buying a cow.

:: :: :: ::

Judah's been into my makeup again.

While he was home with daddy one evening last week, daddy was working on something in the living room, and it got quiet.

The kind of quiet that smacks of trouble when one has a toddler in the house.

Jeff headed for the master bathroom, but Judah met him en route.

Judah smiled up at daddy looking very pleased with himself.

He even posed to show daddy his handiwork.

Daddy was displeased.

Makeup is not the sort of thing the father of a future football hopeful likes to see his son get into.

Into as one gets "in" to a scene, like 'Greasers', 'Preppies', 'Rockers' or the like.

Except that in this instance, 'Goth' and 'Industrial' come to mind.

After taking note of daddy's displeasure, Judah had the good grace to look a little chagrined.

Daddy knew it was time to put the kabosh on the thrill of playing around with mommy's makeup once and for all.

He launched into a lecture about how makeup was for big girls and mommies, and that boys should never, ever touch it, much less put it on (even if it was fun to fingerpaint in the foundation all over the counter, and smear concealer and powder and eyeshadow all over his face, and paint himself with mommy's eyeliner brush).

Even so, something about what Judah had done bothered daddy at a deeper level.

He just couldn't put his finger on what or why he felt that way.

Until Judah did this:

And then he knew.

Suddenly it all became very clear.

And somehow more than a little disturbing.

To think that this guy was some mother's darling, cherubic little toddler way back when.

And that such career aspirations had to begin somewhere.

Kinda makes a person wonder if he got into his mommy's makeup once upon a time, doesn't it?

It's enough to warrant this mommy putting her makeup under lock and key.