Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, there was no such thing as pb&j. It was a sad state for the world, but was especially sad for a plankton named Bobo. Bobo thought he would really like to try peanut butter but he was eaten by a fish named Frederika before he could share his idea with anyone. Frederika cared not at all about sandwiches, peanut butter or otherwise, and the notion was lost for many a year.

Fast forward through the primordial sludge.

One day, Joe Neanderthal neglected to bring home dinner. Mrs. Neanderthal (a female not to be taken lightly) was Displeased seeing as how she’d spent the entire day cleaning the cave (and if you’ve ever tried to clean a dirt cave you know how tiring that can be).

Once she finished expressing her displeasure (which was fairly painful for Joe), Mrs. Neanderthal set about figuring out how to feed her brood. The cupboard was bare-ish (since Joe hadn’t brought home any bear), so Mrs. N reached through time, grabbed George Washington Carver for a quick consult, and proceeded to make lunch (I told you she wasn’t a female to trifle with).

However, Mrs. N was not one to share her culinary secrets and the world had to wait until peanut butter was invented by the Kellogg brothers in 1895.

Peanut butter and jelly was invented around the turn of the century and was the “it” sandwich until Elvis added bananas and subtracted jelly (thereby establishing his reputation as a singing mathematician).

Love, Mom

Dr. GWC didn’t invent peanut butter. He just invented a gazillion other uses for peanuts. Including taking them out the ballgame and the circus.

Dear Kid,

Have you ever thought about flamingos? Specifically, have you thought about pink plastic flamingos? My guess is you haven’t sufficiently contemplated, cogitated, and otherwise considered these most stationary of birds.

Don Featherstone (I did not make that up) invented the pink plastic flamingo in 1957. Featherstone created plastic flamingos after a night of creative burrito making (I may have made that part up a little).

Being the kind of mom I am, I have carefully and thoroughly researched the habits of plastic flamingos, so that you don’t have to fret about this when you take biology. Or whatever class it is that requires mastery of the lifestyles of the pink and plastic.

Plastic flamingos get their color from their diet. Conscientious owners provide pink plastic shrimp for a well-balanced, color-correct sheen to their faux feathers. I have it on good authority that plastic flamingos do not drink diet coke which is why there isn’t a diet coke shortage in the world.

Amazingly, plastic flamingos make the same sounds real flamingos make. Especially if you sit on them.

Featherstone won the Ig Nobel Prize in 1996. Yeah, I’ll be talking about that soon, because I won’t be able to help myself.

The natural habitat for pink plastic flamingos is the front lawn. You can frequently find them near garden gnomes. Their only natural predator is the runaway lawnmower.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Several days ago, I wrote about important facts of shrimp life that you may not have heretofore been aware of. If you missed that post a) shame on you and b) you can click on the word “shrimp” in the previous sentence and get all caught up.

Astute Reader (I have always wanted to write that) David (not one of the Davids you know or are related to) asked many questions highlighting my lack of journalistic thoroughness. Since I never claimed to have a shred of journalistic thoroughness, that didn’t bother me in the least, but he did raise some interesting questions which I am now prepared (I snarfed some shrimp dip and caffeine free diet coke in preparation) to answer.

What do shrimp eat?

Many shrimp eat plankton and drink seawater. Swankier shrimp enjoy cocktails, while vegetarian shrimp eat shrimp salads.

What happens to the shrimp that get sent off to backboning school?

Shrimp get sent off to learn to get a backbone at a young age. Unfortunately (as I previously mentioned), they never develop any. You would think this would make it easier to learn handsprings, but you’d be wrong what with them not having hands.

Since shrimp parents want their offspring to learn to stand up for themselves, teen shrimp often decide to rebel and walk around on multiple legs, scavenging the ocean floor. The interesting angle (known as the shrimp-angler among those fishing for answers) is that this is what they are genetically programmed to do so the rebels and non-rebels look and act exactly alike. This causes parent shrimp to smirk because they got what they wanted all along—oxymorons.

What about the instructors at the schools?

Shrimp teachers (also known as shrimp heads) run strict schools. Classes include eating, pooping, and antennae waving. Advanced classes including learning how to be happy while being eaten by people and/or marine mammals, because as Douglas Adams proved (extra points if you get the reference) everyone’s happier if the dish of the day is happy.

What about Global Warming?

Turns out the shrimp are in mostly in favor of global warming, what with ice being the key ingredient in shrimp cocktails. One small shrimp, named Gusto, attempted to rally the shrimp to fight global warming (he was a radical in a fairly conservative family, but they loved him nonetheless). While Gusto’s family may have loved him, no one else cared much, partly because shrimp are rather single minded (“Oh, look, breakfast!”) and partly because Gusto had a rather small voice even for a shrimp. While he crusaded with much, er, gusto, Gusto was never heard except by a sweet pinepod named Gertie who ate him before she realized what he was talking about.

Now you know.

Love, Mom

Douglas Adams wrote The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (which is what I was referring to). There are two other books in the trilogy—I love the way that man’s mind works.

Dear Kid,

Puppy: Mom?
Me: Yes, baby?
Puppy: The Kid is coming home soon, right?
Me: Monday
Puppy: What’s a Monday?
Me: Soon
Puppy: Right. So I think we should celebrate
Me: Do you?
Puppy: Yes
Me: How do you propose we celebrate?
Puppy: With treats
Me: What sort of treats?
Puppy: Special treats
Me: Any particular sort of special treats?
Puppy: Carrots and peanut butter and bananas. And cheese.
Me: I see you’ve thought about this
Puppy: Yes
Me: Should I assume you’re offering to help eat the treats?
Puppy: Well, I AM part of the family
Me: I’ll think about it
Puppy: That means “no” doesn’t it?
Me: In this particular case, that means “no”
Puppy: (sigh)
Me: But maybe we can find you a piece of a carrot later
Puppy: That would be fan-TAS-tic!!!

Can’t wait to see you.

Puppy: Me too!

Love, Mom

For more puppy conversations see Puppy Conversations and Food Observations, Spring Puppy Conversations, New Puppy Conversations, Winter WonderPuppy | Baby It’s Cold Outside, Puppy Conversations Translated for the College Kid, Puppy Conversations and FIFA World Cup Soccer, Puppy Conversations and the Joy of Quirkiness, Puppy Conversations| In the Beginning, and Puppy Conversations | What’s In a Name?

Dear Kid,

We have a catastrophe on our hands. Actually, more of a dog-tastrophe. Actually, more of a snack-taste-trophy.

Earlier this summer, Dad and I were at a small festival, and found the lovely makers of Treats of Love doggie treats. Being the kind of puppy Mom that I am, I invested in a small bag of mini-treats for Booker (and one for Anakin because one takes care of one’s puppy cousins).

Turns out sisters Katie Mallory and Sara Higgins bake in the equivalent of catnip in their treats. I’m sure the treats are very healthy because they care a lot about puppies, but these are seriously yummy. We’re talking I’ll-do-anything-for-one-of-those yummy. We’re talking I-am-in-snack-ecstasy yummy. We’re talking I-will-even-come-over-to-let-you-cut-my-toenails yummy.

These babies are dog-licious.

Back to the catastrophe: We are down to the last two treats. Booker is not aware that we are so perilously close to being Without These Best of All Treats, and I’d like to keep it that way, so please don’t tell him.

And it’s not like we can just run out to Kroger to replenish because KROGER DOESN’T CARRY TREATS OF LOVE. These little bits of puppy heaven are (as far as I can tell) only sold at inconvenient (for me) farmer’s markets and street fairs I can’t get to.

It appears my options are to let Booker finish the last two treats and then be out or to not give them to Booker and preserve them indefinitely. Guess which I’ll choose?

Life is not an endless bag of yummy treats.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Once upon a time, there was no such thing as French fries. This was a sad state of affairs and all the little Neanderthal children would have been unhappy if they had known what they were missing. Mrs. Neanderthal thought about inventing fries, but decided she was too busy to be bothered.

Fast forward through the Incas (who worshiped potatoes), the Europeans (who thought potatoes were poisonous), the invention of the French fry (by either the French or the Belgians—no one’s quite sure), and we arrive at the McDonald’s French fry.

The golden arches boys loved the idea of French fries (as did their customers). But they had all kinds of difficulties trying to get consistency of fry. And McD’s is all about consistency. Many potatoes gave their lives (and their skins) in the pursuit of the perfect French fry.

The McDonald’s researchers eventually discovered that potatoes had to cure (and by “cure” I mean “sit”) for three weeks before being cooked. Three weeks turns out to be the right amount of time to let the perfect amount of sugar convert to starch. (Potatoes cooked sooner have too much sugar and turn brown too quickly.)

In the pursuit of French fry perfection, McD’s researched which variety of spud to use, which type of shortening to use, and which hat looked best for fry cooks. They eventually even created a potato computer (which sounds like a 5^th grade science project) to monitor the frying oil.

Many people consider French fries to be a vegetable. This is the same logic that says chess is a sport. By which I mean “not so much.”

Americans eat about 140 lbs of potatoes per person each year. About 35 pounds (yup, pounds) of those potatoes are in the form of French fries.

Love, Mom