KRISPIE SUSHI

“Only four years to get ready for the Cookie Competition in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics.  I got my money on Krispie Sushi for the Gold.”

2 Tablespoons Butter

15 Marshmallows

3 cups Rice Krispies

Fruit Rollups

Swedish Fish

On medium heat, melt together the butter and marshmallows.

After the butter and marshmallows are completely melted together, remove from heat and stir in the Rice Krispies.

With greased hands, assemble the Krispie Sushi.

Makes about 12.

Revised Source:  Seattle Mariners “Sweet Sushi” recipe from “Ballpark Eats” by Katrina Jorgensen.

Plus, thank you to my mom, Judy Paulsen, for sharing this home run of a cookie recipe with me.

Okay, so I gathered up all of my information for an old random online account.

I enter my information.  All correct.  Should be no problem.

Need to verify my account, because it has been forever since I logged in.  Maybe because your business model is lame, but oh well, okay.  What do you need from me?

Send a verification pin to my phone number.  Well, that was two phone numbers ago, so dice.

Okay, send a verification pin to my email.  Ugh, that was my email from two email addresses ago.

See no other option, but to create a new account with lame company and repeat process yet again in the future or until they go out of business, because they suck.

A r r r r r r r r r r r r.  Digital Angst “2016 Style.”

Right by work, there’s a tree…

It has seed pods that look like bananas…

But they are not bananas and here’s how we know…

It may not be a banana, but it sure has some amazing communication skills.

You don’t need to be a banana, when you are the most amazing seed pod ever.

When considering what traits he wanted to reflect from each of his parents, our 12-year-old son Jacob gave a thoughtful response.

Similar to his mom, he wanted to be a “success.”

And me?  Similar to his father, Jacob wanted to be “likeable.”

I prefer to think of “likeability” as the most important measure of success.  It also helps to marry well.  Yes, my boy, you can have it all.

Editor’s Note – the staff of www.CookiesbyDave.com would like to note that if having eight loyal readers is a sign of success, Dave has that “success thing” all wrapped up.

Editor’s Note II – “Return of the Harsh Truth” – one last comment from the staff of www.CookiesbyDave.com.  Also, if “likeable” includes “slightly annoying” most of the time and occasionally “extremely annoying,” then Dave has that one all wrapped up, too.

Congrats, Dave.  Looks like you’ve made it.

Sitting with my 7-year-old, we were playing with our tablet type device things, as the Olympics played on television in the background.

Getting up to leave the room, I turned off the T.V.

Looking shocked, my son exclaimed, “I was watching field hockey!”

Yes, I know.  Every four years, that Belgium versus Netherlands field hockey game is oh so riveting.  That’s just the way it goes.

I am a slow riser.  I take a little while to get going.  As a result, I don’t like to chat too much early in the morning.

My 9-year-old son Sam is an early riser.  A very early riser.  Usually, he can be spotted up well before 6:30AM.  Plus, he is an early morning talker.  Sam is not afraid to start up a conversation about anything regardless of whether or not the other party is awake.

Well, I usually run into Sam first thing in the morning.  It takes me about 20 minutes, but I eventually join the conversation.  That’s how our mornings are supposed to work.  It’s tiring, but it’s our routine.

This morning, I got up.  I showered.  I stumbled down for my morning coffee.  I looked around and there was no Sam to be found.  I checked downstairs and thought I heard the television.  I got downstairs and nothing.  My mind was playing tricks on me.  No Sam to be found.  Then the oddest thing happened, I grew sad (a tired wistful sort of sad) that the banter was not by my side.

I walked upstairs.  Fixed my coffee and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally at 7:01AM, I heard the footsteps of young Sam.  After bounding down the stairs, Sam and I were soon engaged in a long conversation about the frenemy relationship between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.

I was tired, but I was happy.  Everything was right again.  My Sam had arrived.

As dinner wrapped up, I was grumbling.  Grumbling about veggies.  Why must I eat vegetables to be healthy?  Why?  Why?

Hearing my rant, my uber fit wife looked at me and said, “You should embrace this lifestyle.”

Looking back at my pretty wife and giving a somewhat goofy, but still fun come hither look, I winked at her and said, “Oh yes, I embrace that.”

Letting out a small giggle and then looking very embarrassed, my pre-teen appeared to want to hide under the table.

Ah, looks like I must now either temper my silly attempts at flirting or else mortify my son.  Decisions, decisions.

You may not have noticed it.  You may not have felt the Earth shift slightly on its axis.  You may not have noticed our graduation as a family unit.

At 10:21AM this morning, our entire family was enjoying snacks around a small coffee shop table.  All five of us.  Small table.  Stuff on top.  Spillable stuff.

All seemed calm.  So calm that I removed the lid from the top of my cup of coffee.  Nothing.  No spill.  No children running scatterbrained into the table.  No one climbing on chairs.  No youngsters dancing on table tops.  Nothing.  We appeared to be a downright normal properly functioning family unit.

Wow!  I took a sip from my lidless coffee cup.  So this is how we enter the brave new world.  I like it.

I don’t know if Olympians walk around wearing their medals…

but I do know that after this morning’s Gopher to Badger (Two States in One Race) Half Marathon, I’ll be wearing mine around for a while…

church, grocery store, work, bedtime, it’s all game for the new dress code, when you medal.

Editor’s Note: We are unsure why Dave’s neck (in the above photo) now appears to be way too long and way too skinny, but we will make sure that a doctor checks it out first thing on Monday morning.  Promise.

I figured that I would have a few more minutes to get everything in order.  Get the kids into bed and unload the groceries, before Charlene returned from the gym.

The kids were getting ready for bed.  I had the car in the garage and was unloading the groceries out of the car’s rear hatch.  Then I saw the garage door beginning to raise.  Charlene had returned.

That’s when in slow motion, the car’s rear hatch hooked onto the raising garage door.  It lifted the car door up and then stopped.  The car door could go no further.  Then the garage door responded by beginning to lower.

Down a foot and the car door jammed in the opposite direction.  The garage door reversed again, this time up.

Down, up. Up, down.  Repeat, repeat.  An endless loop.

I tried yelling out to Charlene.  “Stop!” No response.

I tried waving under the garage door to her.  No response.

I tried pushing on the car door.  No response.

I tried pushing on the garage door.  No response.

One of my son’s arrived to investigate the commotion.  Nothing changed.

I saw only one option.  Pull the car further into the garage.

I jumped into the car.  Turned the ignition.  Shifted into gear.  Punched the gas.

I had only a few inches to work with and slammed the car into the garage’s plastic shelving.  The chain saw and bin of basketballs teetered high upon on the plastic shelves, but did not fall.

The garage door fully opened.  The car door shut just fine.  The crisis had been averted.  Somehow.

I approached my wife’s car not knowing what to expect.  She opened her car door and said with a laugh, “Only you, Dave.”

Indeed, only me.  Again.  Sort of like a garage door going up, down, up, down, up, down, again, and again.  Repeat, forever.  That’s the way I roll and the way I unload groceries.  Only me.