Sunshine

Blueberry Crisp

So far, it looks like I might actually have some blueberries to pick in my garden this year. Of course, I say that every year and every year a bunch of birds swoop in and make a point of ruining my day.

NOT THIS YEAR.

This is my reminder to myself - nets. It's almost time for the nets.

Otherwise, how will I make Blueberry Crisp? (Spoiler: I will regardless thanks to the magic of stores.)

Blueberry Crisp

4 cups blueberries
1/3 cup white sugar
1 tablespoon corn starch
2 cups oatmeal
1 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine the blueberries, white sugar, and corn starch in a 9x13" baking dish. Spread the mixture  evenly across the dish.

In a large bowl, combine the oatmeal, butter, brown sugar, and flour. (A hand mixer works fine, but I actually prefer to just use my hands. Fewer things to clean when I'm done, y'know?) Sprinkle the oatmeal mixture over the fruit. Then bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.

It's amazing served warm, especially with a scoop of ice cream. Or without ice cream. Really, it's amazing no matter what you do.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I am an "Acts of Service" person. While I know that with every fiber of being and have told all of my peoples that MULTIPLE THOUSANDS of times, they don't get it. Things. Things. Things.

::sigh::

Why it took me all these years to take matters into my own hands and own that "Acts of Service" thing, I don't know, but it did. I finally broke the drought of grateful-yet-a-tiny-bit-disappointed by buying myself a birthday present this year. The idea mostly came about because Groupon managed to send the exact right email at the exact right time and OMG I CAN PAY SOMEONE TO COME CLEAN MY HOUSE.

This is not shocking news to most people, but I've never done it. There's something about paying someone to do something I'm capable of that's weird, plus the effort required to find someone seemed monumental and ACTS OF SERVICE, Y'ALL. I would appreciate someone finding a person I can pay to do things far more than any diamonds or cars or literally any object on earth. Like, if someone wants to find me an electrician to run wiring to the pond? I would love you forever and ever.

ANYWAY.

There was a Groupon for house cleaning, I bought it, and then it took me months to schedule it.

No matter, though, I finally did and it was sooooooooo magical. I can't even describe how totally and completely amazing it was that someone who was not me wiped down baseboards and scrubbed the inside of the fridge and pulled out the oven to sweep behind it and the cabinet doors were clean and ... I could go on and on and on. It was very truly one of the best days of my adult life.

And then Mila came home. She sort of made it better? But not really?

Mila was totally and completely awestruck by the notion that someone had cleaned a bunch of bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and the family room. So much cleaning! All of the rooms! The child was literally enchanted and kept going on and on and on about how nice the people were to have done that.

They were nice, that's a fact, but ... uh ... I have picked up after that kid literally every single day of her life. I have actually cleaned all of the things that were cleaned that day AND MORE. Again, I'm capable of cleaning. It's just not a thing I particularly enjoy or make time for when I'm prioritizing all of the things that need to be done.

And yet, I get no gratitude from the tiny person. I have LITERALLY CLEANED HER BUTT, but nothing. No thanks. No fawning over how nice I am. No appreciation.

So I, of course, had to ask questions.

"You do realize I paid them to clean, right?" I asked Mila.

"It was still so nice of them to do," she replied.

Again, true, but COME ON, CHILD.

"Mila, I literally gave them money in exchange for cleaning. It's not like they were driving around the neighborhood and saw our house and decided to be cleaning fairies," I said.

"But they ARE cleaning fairies! Look how nice everything looks!" she replied.

That was like insult piled on injury. It doesn't count when I clean AND apparently they did a better job?

WHATEVER, CHILD.

Fast forward a few days and Mila, as usual, managed to trash the kitchen. The child is simply incapable of making herself breakfast without leaving a trail of crumbs that Hansel and Gretel could follow to Timbuktu. I pointed out that Mila needed to clean up after herself because ZOMG THE CRUMBS AND THE TOASTER ARE GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME.

Her response?

"It's okay. You can clean it up if it bothers you."

Grrrr.