Filled up the car with gas.

Headed home on-time.

Waived to the neighbor kid playing in his front yard.

Pulled into the driveway.

Spotted our dog looking out the window and waiting to welcome me home.

Turned off the car.

Exit the car door.

– Enter nagging feeling –

– Something was wrong –

–  Off –

– Not right –

– Too quiet –

– And glancing in the backseat, nothing –

Appears as if picking up the kids was a critical step in making the drive home a success.  Oops.

At least no one needs to know, at least until they read this.  Oops.  Oops.  #DoubleDadFail

 

POTATO CHIP COOKIES

“The perfect blend of salty and sweet.  This shortbread cookie provides a potato chip crunch and chocolate taste.  A special experience that you won’t regret.  If you want an extra kick, take a bite and follow it immediately with a potato chip chaser.  Soon there will be a party in your mouth and all you have to do is bring the chips.  Enjoy!”

1 cup Butter

3/4 cup Sugar

3/4 cup Potato Chips, crushed

1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract

2 cups Flour

Powdered Sugar

1 cup Semi-Sweet Chocolate Chips

1 Tablespoon Shortening

Extra crushed Potato Chips for topping

 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cream the butter and sugar.

Mix in the crushed potato chips.

Mix in the vanilla extract.

Mix in the flour.

Place Tablespoon sized balls of dough onto parchment paper lined baking sheets.

Flatten with the bottom of a glass.

Sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Bake for 8 minutes or until the bottom of the cookies have browned.

Place baking sheets onto wire racks.

Cool for 5 minutes and remove the cookies from baking sheets to cool completely on the wire racks.

Use a microwave to melt together the chocolate chips and shortening.

Dip half of each cookie into the melted chocolate and place on wax paper.

Sprinkle the chocolate portion of each cookie with remaining crushed potato chips.

Allow to cool completely.  Note that placing the cookies in the refrigerator for 5 minutes will help the chocolate set.

 

Makes about 30 cookies.

Revised Source:  “Potato Chip Cookies” by Carla Hall on ABC’s “The Chew.”

 

Believe It or Not…  The World’s Smallest Plunger resides at work in the 4th Floor Men’s Room.

I blame the Lilliputians.

 

As my sons read the Valentine’s that they brought home from school, I was reminded of my favorite Valentine that I ever received in elementary school.  It also has the honor of being the only Valentine that I remember from elementary school.  It still makes me smile to this day.

It was the Fifth Grade and the Valentine was from my good friend Benji.  The card read “To my best body.” Drop an “o,” add a “u,” one more “d” and now we are talking, buddy.

Sincere thought and honest mistake all rolled into one.  An error turned into happiness, a great outcome for anybody.

 

For my 7th Grader’s Health Class, he needs to prepare a certain number of healthy meals.  After serving the main course, he needs to take a photo of a family member with the meal to prove that the image was not lifted from the internet.

Seeing that my plating of vegetable soup looked the best, I posed for a photo.

Honest, I was upright when the photo was taken, but somehow this post is more appropriate with a sideways picture (read “skewed sense of reality”).

Looking at the picture, I remarked, “Your teacher will be distracted from the food, because of that handsome man in the photo.”

Shaking his head in strong disapproval, my teen remarked about his teacher, “Dad, she’s like twenty-five.”

Well son, take note, because some handsomeness (read “playful arrogance”) is timeless.  Look all you want ladies, this silly daddy is taken.

 

Gosh Fortune Cookie, thank you for the encouraging words,…

…but truth be told, I should probably dial it back a little.

Last week, I vetoed plans for “indoor camping” in front of our fireplace.  Tonight, however, I am making good on the brief excursion and after S’mores, I have successfully managed to get three young men into their proper sleeping quarters (I also appear to have created quite the run on sentence by candlelight).

Well, here are some updated shots of the action…

The “Dad begged us to smile nicely” photo and the much closer to reality “silly shot.”

Considering that I have staked out my claim on the couch for the evening, who is the real winner?  Turns out there are two.  Kirby the Beagle, who has found a nice spot adjacent to the fireplace, and my beautiful and very smart wife, who has retreated to the bedroom to spend a lovely evening, dog and husband free.

#LuckyWife  #IndoorCampingLife

 

Word spread quickly at work.  Someone had placed some “Mango Massage” hand lotion by the break room sink.  This led to a whole series of questions.  Who massages with mango?  Wouldn’t it be sticky?  Are massages now a thing at work?  Huh?

Well, needless to say, I had to give it a try.  Sure folks looked at me a little funny pumping some of the pink hand lotion out of the dispenser and rubbing it into my wanting skin.  Sure it takes a man of great confidence to fully embrace the concept of a mango massage, but you need not worry.  I was up for the task.

It felt like any regular hand lotion, but it had a strong pleasant scent.  A scent that I can assume was mango, although I have never been this close to a total body mango experience.  Well, I was pleased with the lotion and that’s all that mattered.  I went on with my day.

About thirty minutes later, I walked into a meeting.  The only difference was that I had a certain confidence about me, a confidence that only comes with super soft hands.  Sitting down, I noticed that something else was different about me.  I not only had soft hands, I also had a powerful scent about me.  The scent of mango encircled me like a fruity wreath and filled the tiny conference room.  I smelled like I had just been rolling in the fruit bin at the grocery store.  I was the human embodiment of an intensely mango experience.

So learn from my experience.  You can pursue soft hands.  You can even indulge in a mango massage.  Just beware that it will forever change you in powerful ways.  Ways that overwhelm the senses.  Ways that make you smell like a walking tropical fruit.

 

Without fail, my evening routine develops as follows:

1. Wash dishes
2. Help with homework
3. Administer bedtime…

and then, as if some silent dog whistle is sounded, my beloved pup approaches me with a toy to play fetch.  By this time of the night, I am tired.  My interest in playing is about zero.  My energy level is sapped, but there is my dear friend Kirby the Beagle waiting to play.

He knows that the kids have gone to bed.  He knows that he has me all to himself.  In his mind, the only option is a satisfying game of fetch.

If there is one thing that the evening routine has taught me, it is this…  God sent us Kirby to teach me patience and God sent me to Kirby to play fetch.

Other than maybe an ice cold beer, a good nap, a beautiful wife, and charming little kids, what more could a man want?

Oh yeah, I was just reminded, a loving dog is really nice, too.

 

[When last we heard from our heroes, they had just missed the kick off of the Super Bowl, because power was out at their humble abode.  Now for the exciting conclusion of “Sunday, Black Sunday.”]

0 minutes until Kick Off

Still no power, still a dark house.  Somewhere in the distance the Super Bowl was being played without our attentive eyes.

As we called the power company, our teenager found a live stream of the game on his phone.  I could see our phone’s data allotment vaporizing before my eyes.  My heart cried out for unlimited data.  My fingers quickly dialed the power company for an update.

It would be another hour, before power was restored.  We quickly hatched a plan that would involve a bar, televisions, food, and beer.  Things were beginning to look up.

15 minutes after Kick Off

Sitting in the bar, our cares temporarily drifted away.  Beer somehow helps with such things.

A little before halftime, we decided to head home and watch the conclusion of the game.  Only one problem, when we arrived home, still no power.

120 minutes after Kick Off

Sad, we called the power company again.  The new update was that it would be another ten hours until power would be restored.  What?!?  Ten hours?!?  Apparently something of a some such was broken and parts would be needed from somewhere and would arrive sometime.  Blah, blah, blah.  “Oh, no problem Power Company, it’s not like something like oh the SUPER BOWL was being played or anything.  Oh wait!  It was being played, we just could not watch it!”  Yes, somewhere football was being played, the lack of beer reminded me of that.

Our phones nearing zero power were turned off.  We started a fire in the fireplace and settled in.  We would wait it out, sleep in the living room in front of the fire, camp out inside, and live life like the days before the Super Bowl.

Evaluating the situation, I determined we would need many more candles and a lot more firewood.  I left my family, jumped into the car, and headed toward the grocery store.  On my way out of the driveway, I spotted a large electric truck doing large electric type activities by the side of the road.

150 minutes after Kick Off

Strolling through the grocery store, I picked up several bundles of overpriced plastic wrapped firewood and lots and lots of candles.  My job as provider was done.  Time to head home.  I listened to the radio.  I was the only one.  Why?  Everyone else was watching the Super Bowl!  That’s why!

Turning onto our street, my eyes seemed to deceive me.  I saw something wondrous.  Something amazing.  Lights.  Lights on.  Lights on at my house.  The power was back.  The game would be back on.

180 minutes after Kick Off

I settled in.  Enjoyed the rest of the Fourth Quarter and Overtime with my family.  The second the game was over, I took the power back into my own hands and turned off the television.  It felt good to be back in charge.

240 minutes after Kick Off

Ushering the kids toward bed, they asked if they could still “camp out” in front of the fire for the night.  Feeling confident.  Enjoying my renewed sense of power, I turned down their request.  The power had been restored and it was a school night.  Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the power company was no longer the villain, I had regained that dubious title.  With great power comes great responsibility, some would say Super Responsibility.

525,360 minutes until the next Super Bowl Kick Off