Sugar, Pleeeease.

There's one rule for road trips: take as much sugary food as possible so that your kids can crash and burn in a very small space. It's like a science experient. But not the "how many licks does it take the get to the tootsie center" but "how many grams does it take for the kids to implode." If you haven't seen children implode, it's something like this (too bad I don't have a picture of Madison for you to understand the ultimate meaning): Red, puffy eyes, murderous screaming, incoherent babbling, blobs of mucus, deranged expression, unkept hair, general displeasure when touched or talked to. I think the goal of these implosions is to have the entire universe stop, look, and give the child what he or she wants. One time I was at a zoo with a psychotic screaming meemee who hadn't finished her lunch and wanted dessert. I was not going to give in, no I wasn't because once you pick your battles, you have to fight them (and I try not to pick too many, but the people walking around me probably thought I did). So she's crying like she just gave birth to Jackson (oh wait, that was me) and a lady walks up, and she said (yes, she actually SAID IT) ,"I have some candy you can give her. Does she want some?" And I'm like: are strangers really supposed to undermine parents? I thought that was the job of media and tv? I didn't have the gall to say, "You would just give her some, wouldn't you?" but I think I lacked the physical capacity to retort with such acidity. My entire body was focused on containing the unorganized matter. And finally, somehow, only with the help of diety and my good, wonderful, handsome, son-of-a-gun husband, we put a lid on it. Jared has a way of coaxing the children to do what he says. Heeeeyyyy, wait. He has a way of doing that to me, too. I just realized it. Like when he always makes me laugh when I'm in a horrible mood. He just keeps cracking funny jokes and nudging me along until finally I'm like Madison and trying to hide the smile. What a wonderful husband. By the way, I'm not always in a bad mood.
I've always wondered about those women who could handle their dough like they could handle their children. Soft, but firm. There's a certain Suzie Homemaker type that can make bread. And I've never been like that. It always turned out like a thick rock. I'd kill my yeast every time even when I had friends over to help me. The bread would work when they did it for me... but recently all that has changed. I prayed a lot (Enos style) and the Good Lord imparted his bread-making ability on me. NO really. I did pray a lot. And I really can make bread now. If you don't believe me, ask Jared. He actually ENCOURAGES me to make bread now. It's so cool. It's like I have a whole new superhero power (added to a list of, like, a million) and I can't be stopped! Now we have bread comin' out or wazooo and we're a happy lot.