Don't Eat That Marshmallow if You Want to Get Into a Good College

Sit a preschooler in an empty room with one marshmallow in front of him. Tell him he can eat the marshmallow immediately, or wait for a bit and get a second marshmallow. This experiment (originally conducted by Walter Mischel at Stanford University in 1972) absolutely fascinates me. It turns out that the kids who were able to delay gratification and wait for that second marshmallow experienced greater academic success later in life.

Hmmm. I could wait a lifetime for a second marshmallow, because I'm not a fan of that particular confection. However, I was the kid that ate her Halloween chocolate in a matter of days. When it was gone I was sad. So I wiped away my tears and stole from my little sister's not-so-secret chocolate stash. She could make a single chocolate bar last for weeks, delicately nibbling a bite or two per day. Her rage upon discovering the large impression of my teeth in her Symphony bar was cataclysmic.

I have no desire to analyze my inability delay gratification when it comes to chocolate. I choose to embrace it and move forward. But I can tell you, I will intentionally teach Baby JAR how to wait and regulate his emotions. Forget Baby Einstein or flashcards. It's simpler than that. Kids need love, security, and self-control. And now I will step off my soapbox.

It Is Impossible To Eat Cheese While Frowning. Just Try It. You Can't.

I've been thinking a lot lately. Sit at the table, lean my head on my hand and smile vacantly toward the ceiling kind of thinking. So what am I thinking about? Egypt's law against thuggery? The shrinking value of the dollar? The foul smell in my dishwasher? No, no, no. I've been thinking a lot about cheese. I really like it. It makes me smile. And you know what? It makes a lot of people smile. Here's the pudding I call proof:

Yummy.

Druthers is Not an Ingredient Found in Soap

I am notoriously choosy about what soaps, lotions and cosmetics I purchase for my family. If I had my druthers (what is a druther, really?)*, I would make my own soap from fresh alpaca milk and spearmint lovingly harvested from my front yard. But alas, I know nothing about the fine art of soap making. So before I purchase any product I research it on The Environmental Working Group's Skin Deep Cosmetic Database. It is my electronic bible. I love it, love it, love it. I can search for specific products and find out exactly what ingredients are in it, and more importantly, what that means. Because who really knows what Cetyl Hydroxyethylcellulose is?

An example of a product search on Skin Deep

*I love answers and I love Google searches. 
The meaning of "if I had my druthers" courtesy of The Phrase Finder:

This is an American phrase and not used widely elsewhere. People elsewhere in the world might want to know what druthers are, as the phrase conveys otherwise. Druthers is a shortening of 'would rathers'. The phrase originated in the late 19th century and is first cited in the January 1870 edition of Overland monthly and Out West magazine, in a story called Centrepole Bill, by George F. Emery:

   "If I was a youngster, I 'drather set up in any perfession but a circus-driver, but a man can't always have his 'drathers."

Druthers, as opposed to its earlier variant drathers, is traced back to 1876 in Dialect Notes:

   "Bein's I caint have my druthers an' set still, I cal'late I'd better pearten up an' go 'long."

Facial Hair Friday

I have a thing for men with beards. Not a goatee or anything sparse and disgusting. I'm talking full-on Jesus beards. (But not in a blasphemous, I find Jesus attractive way. Obviously.) I like shaggy hair and a thick beard just shy of looking homeless. I'm not quite sure how this feeling developed, but I'm fairly certain that it has something to do with this recurring dream where I quit my job and live on a sprawling farm that is magically maintained by someone other than myself. This farm has lush greenery, Jersey cows, wood-fired pizza ovens, and my bearded lover--a guitar playing potter who feeds me artisan sheep's milk cheese and rubs my feet with emu oil. Mmmmm...

So I choose to celebrate beautifully bearded men on Fridays. I raise my glass to them. "Long live beards, cheese, and my deranged fantasies always involving beards and cheese. Salud."

Ray LaMontagne. Oh sweet bearded Ray. What's that you say? No stop, you are the best thing. Do I want another bite of cheese? A foot massage? Mr. LaMontangne, you are trouble, oh trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble...

It may be helpful to my marriage to explain that my husband is definitely capable of growing a thick and luscious beard and I love it when he does. He is more than welcome to live on the farm with us (me and Ray) if he keeps his beard and gives me three detailed compliments per day.

Nothing Emphasizes a Point Like the F Word

I realize that this book is old news when it comes to our fast-paced, super-connected society. However, I am usually a day late and a dollar short when it comes to being cool. I just discovered skinny jeans and Mumford and Sons yesterday. So, here is a video of the much discussed "Go the F--k to Sleep." I really wish I wrote it.

A Still Life in Puppetry

This is Bucky.

Bucky is my dad. His name is not actually Bucky--Bucky is another one of our family nicknames that has evolved in a bizarre and vague manner. There are a few accepted variations, including Bacaw, Bucks, Buckster, and of course, Grandpa Bucky for Baby JAR.

Baby JAR adores his Grandpa Bucky. And why wouldn't he? Grandpa Bucky has a personality that is so large it literally spills out of the room. He has one volume--really loud. He is completely confident and comfortable in his Bucky skin, and his laugh is fantastic. We love our Bucks.

So one day, when Baby JAR was missing his grandpa, I made a charming little puppet. We had a great time taking our "Little Bucky" on adventures. This is a photographic collection of Bucky's big day. Please enjoy.

Bucky enjoys a leisurely breakfast with Baby JAR.

Bucky kicks around the old futbol.

Bucky checks his Facebook.

Bucky considers a tasty burger.

Bucky purchases a tasty burger. The puppet does not seem to faze the employees of this fine establishment.

Bucky tucks in for 40 winks after a very busy day. Goodnight Bucky!

Guest Post by Baby JAR: Increasing Levels of Enjoyment at Target Shopping Centers

Baby JAR: Trips to Target used to be such a drag--strapped down in a red shopping cart, watching my mom sniff 11 different kinds of deodorant, Kenny Loggins singing some nonsense about Winnie the Pooh, and a bunch of sad grownups in khaki pants and red shirts shuffling around like zombies. No thanks!

But recently, I discovered a surefire way to liven up my time at Target. Interested? In just a few easy steps you too can learn the secrets of complete shopping satisfaction. Here's how:

1. Poop. Poop loudly, wildly, and with complete abandon. Now wiggle and squirm in the seat. Watch mom realize that she left the diaper bag on the table at home. Laugh.

2. Keep your eyes peeled for any merchandise featuring that silly red puppet, Elmo. Then contort your body, arch your back, and reach for said merchandise with all of your might. Scream "MO! MO! MO! MO! MOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" and cry hysterically. Continue this for at least 4 aisles.

3. Thirsty? No problem. Pull mom's shirt down and expose her nipple to everyone in housewares. She should have worn a turtleneck.

4. If you see a man in the 20-40 age range, point to him and yell "DAD? DAD? DAAAAAAAD!!!!" Watch mom turn red and casually lift her left hand, prominently displaying her wedding band.

5. Convince mom that you're hungry. If you're lucky she'll have one of those overpriced applesauce squeezy things. Take one small mouthful. Now squeeze the rest all over her shirt.

If you follow these simple steps, I guarantee that your trip to Target will be more efficient and definitely more enjoyable. Good luck!