I was going to write a post tonight about how my mom told my 10 year old son that she has a lot of bumps and bruises and he asked, “Why?”

She said, “Because I’m a klutz.”

Then he said, “Oh, I thought it was because you’re old … and a klutz.”

But, when I logged in to start writing, I noted the date. I started blogging here on June 26, 2007. It’s my five-year blogoversary!

A lot has changed since then. A whole lot. Mostly, that my husband thought blogging was a huge waste of time and now HE’S ALL FOR IT. Of all the things I’ve been right about, I’m glad it was blogging. Okay, it’s the only thing I’ve been right about, but I should get extra credit for it!

I have told countless stories like the one up there, because OHBOY does my son like to hurl insults. Of course, now that he’s ten instead of five, I feel like I need to tell people it’s because of his sub-threshold autism, and not just because he’s rotten. Though, he is that too. He’s still about the same size as he was five years ago, but not much else has changed.

My daughter has gone from eight to thirteen. That’s, like, a whole lifetime. *eye roll* She’ll be going to college in five years. SHUT UP! Don’t say that! Oh, I said that? Well, take note people, THAT’S how fast it goes. Blink and your kids are grown. Also, when you’re 41 years old instead of 36, you blink and you sprout a gray chin hair.

More than anything I want to say thank you to the most amazing, fabulous, delightful, kind, funny, faithful readers and commenters in the blogosphere. You are good people.

If I’m really lucky, you’ll still be around when I’m old and klutzy.

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It all started when I walked into my daughter’s room after midnight, on a school night, and found her looking out of her window. Our conversation went something like this:

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Sorry, Mom! I can’t sleep, so I’m taking pictures of the lightning.”

“GO TO SLEEP! You can’t get any good pictures THROUGH YOUR WINDOW SCREEN!”

I was wrong.

The next day, when she showed me the images she captured, I saw that she had taken this a few days prior.

I have a DSLR and don’t take pictures that well. I mean, you want your kids to be good at stuff, but they’re not supposed to be better than you. She’s showing me up with a point and shoot!

This sealed the deal on me needing to take a photo class. I have long said that I would love to have two other blogs….hold on, while I use these smelling salts on my husband…one for design and one for food, but my pictures aren’t even close to where they would need to be for those kind of websites.

But, my daughter is showing me that maybe I should forget the bells and whistles and just take the picture already. Using a point and shoot isn’t stopping her from capturing some great moments.

Proof? When I went to pull these two photos off her flash drive, I found this picture of Blue that my daughter took the day before we put her down.

Oh, forget it. I can’t compete with that.

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School has been out for 18 days and my head hasn’t exploded. I’d say that’s a win.

Of course, this is not for my kids’ lack of trying. They have given it their all, what with the constant bickering and sometimes kicking. There may have also been biting, but I haven’t confirmed they were actual teeth-marks.

It wasn’t that long ago that they loved each other. I remember it! I don’t remember a lot (*waves at Ambien*), but I do remember that there was once affection and kindness where now there is none.

Sigh.

My mom tells me this is normal; that because my sisters were so much older than me, I was like an only child and I didn’t have the benefit of squabbling with a sibling. I do, however, remember two of my sisters fighting. I was 5, they were 18 and 20. I don’t recall much other than our toy-fox terrier taking a bite out of one of their ankles and there weren’t a lot of fists being thrown. Scratches and hair-pulling, yes. Punches, no. At least it was a fair fight.

In my house, with an average-size 13 year old and a 10 year old who can still get into amusement parks for free, my daughter has an unfair advantage; at least in the height-department. My son makes up for this with his skilled mind tricks though. Like when he purposely falls over his sister’s foot and claims she tripped him.

He also knows exactly how to push her buttons and how to irritate her with maximum efficiency and little effort. Just for the record, he inherited that trait from his dad. Last night, my husband asked me out of the blue, “So, would you be mad at me if I tried bath salts? My guy, stirring up trouble since 1971.

People, please tell me that the arguing will stop someday and my kids will love each other again. If you feel like being generous, tell me that day will be soon.

My mental health is depending on it.

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In the seventh grade, I was in a stage production of Oliver! I acted in the bar scene, where I pumped a beer stein back and forth while singing, “Oom Pa Pa” with an ensemble. That is where they put you when you can’t sing; they make you be part of a group and pretend you’re drunk.

An added bonus? I played a boy. This should not be a surprise, because I was a 5′ 9″ twelve year old. I filled in whenever height was necessary. Need a fifth person for a pick-up game? Ask Momo! Even if she just stands there, we’ll have enough for a team!

I suppose you could say that Oliver! is where my food career started. “Please sir, may I have some more?” Also, my beer career. Though I gave up knickers, knee socks and vests long ago, the rest of my stage debut stuck. Right to my thighs.

Last weekend, while in Seattle for the BlogHer Food Conference, I heard over and over how food is part of who we are and the stories we tell. Through pain, laughter, anger and joy, food is always there. No matter where we go and what we do, it is a constant presence in our lives. Again, just ask my thighs.

You can’t have a party without food; you can’t have a wake either. What is a movie without popcorn, a baseball game without peanuts, a wedding without a cake or a cookout without potato salad? It’s just a boring, old, regular day, that’s what.

For instance, I can’t think of my grandma without smelling her spaghetti sauce. Though, it was never accompanied by spaghetti, always rigatoni, and she called the noodles “sewer pipes.” That’s right. Sewer pipes. Mmm.

That food memory is, hands-down, my favorite. Though, there are so many others. So. Very. Many. Picking mulberries fresh from the tree is right up there, as was watching my mom prepare the food for my sister’s wedding reception.

There are bad ones too; like when my cousins would make me eat a spoonful of peanut butter, relish and cocoa powder in a game of Spoons-Meets-Truth-or-Dare. *shudder*

Now I eat things like tofu which, apparently, makes other people shudder.

Whether your food memories make you queasy or make you smile, I want to know what they are. Tell me, boys and girls, what food takes you back to a place and time, and why? What is the single culinary delight, kitchen accessory or truth-or-dare moment that never fails to stir something in you? Let’s sit awhile and listen to each others’ stories.

I’ll bring the beer stein.

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