The Box. Still.

Four score and seven years ... er ... maybe it was 9 days ago. Yeah ... nine days ago Mila decided The Box was going to be A Thing. She came home from Alexis' friend's house with a shoe box filled with toys and trinkets and it has been with her ever since.

And I do mean with her.

She is sleeping with the box.

It goes in the car to go to school every morning. It doesn't actually go to school because I convinced Mila that it would be a bad idea to expect her friends to respect the box. They can't be trusted and stuff, you know?

The box eats dinner with us.

It. Goes. Everywhere.

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

For what it's worth, the answer to the obvious question isn't all that exciting. There's nothing exciting inside the box. It's two Monster High dolls, a Barbie, a Barbie bed, a pack of pencils, a pack of erasers, some string, and that's about it. In the past few days, Mila has added a few things like kitchen utensils and a little Halloween toy, but it's still not that exciting. And, it can't fit much more because it's really very important that The Box closes properly.

Don't ask me why. And don't ask Mila because it super infuriates her that we're all too dumb to understand that closing the box is important.

Also don't ask me why my soup ladle is one of the things in The Box. Someday when I'm old and grey, Mila is going to give me back all of my soup ladles, mostly because I'm going to make her, because SHE ALWAYS STEALS THEM.

It's another of life's great mysteries. I don't know why sleeping with a box is A Thing and I don't know why every soup ladle ever ends up hidden in Mila's collection of joyous things.

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I Can't Even With You, America

Well, America, THANKS. Thanks ever so much for having your act together to the point that I've had to have lengthy conversations about consent with my 12-year old. I was pretty excited about that, let me tell you. I was especially excited because you, America, have given her the impression that consent isn't important. Making sure boys aren't wrongly accused of something SUPER is, though. Why is their reputation more important than her safety? HELL IF I KNOW.

By the way, she wasn't willing to accept that as an answer. She had MORE questions.

So, there's two things that I ended up saying. Take it or leave it, America, because it's the best I've got right now.

1. Drunk people can't consent. Ever. EVER EVER EVER. So, like if one of your friends is drunk, you are obligated to step in and help becauase ain't no way we can trust a boy to make that determination. And if he's drunk? ALSO UNABLE TO CONSENT.

This realization has led me to feel like a poopsicle about some things that happened when I was in high school, for the record. Alexis heard all about how there was this girl who everyone knew would "consent" just as long as she was drunk enough. She was such a whore ... except, NOT! Because it's not consent! If I knew how to get in touch with her, I would probably apologize because I've now realized I participated in rape culture by calling her a whore and blaming her for the fact that guys were perfectly happy to shove alcohol down her throat so they could chase her inhibitions away.

Jerks.

If they didn't want accused of being jerks, maybe the guys shouldn't have been at parties handing out drinks. Ahem.

2. No is a really powerful word and you're going to have to use it very bluntly. Silence is apparently to be considered "consent," so you can't be quiet. You have to scream, "NO!" at the top of your lungs. If he doesn't stop when the magic word is screamed, then by all means, my girls have permission to go all Lorena Bobbitt on the situation. This strategy may not work in the long-term, but for as long as they're minors, I'll figure out how to help them. Boys, be warned. You can never be sure if pulling your little friend out is going to be met with a knife.

Consent to that, jerks.

(I seriously don't know how to talk to my girls about all of this. DAMMIT, AMERICA.)

Roasted Brussel Sprouts and Apples

My new goal in life is to make a few dinners on Sunday nights so that Alexis can reheat them when she beats me home a few days during the week. I've managed to do it the past three weeks in a row and those days? MAN ARE THEY GOOD. It's magical the difference it makes to have dinner started when I get home, especially when it involves a solid dose of vegetables and such.

Here's my recent addition to that rotation:

Only one of my children likes brussel sprouts, but I don't care. I like them. The kid who doesn't can eat around them and enjoy the apples and bacon. It's fine.

Roasted Brussel Sprouts and Apples

2 cups brussel sprouts, outer leaves removed and halved
2 medium apples (I used one Gala and one Granny Smith), chopped
1 large yellow onion, chopped
1 package bacon (I used Sweet Earth brand Benevolant Bacon)
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

2. If you're using real bacon, toss it on a cookie sheet and bake it until it's the amount of crispy that you like. Remove the bacon from the cookie sheet, but keep the oil there.

3. If you're using fake bacon, start by spreading 1 tablespoon of olive oil on your cookie sheet. There. Now whether you're using real bacon or not, you're in the same place. Cookie sheet with oil on it.

4. Spread out the brussel sprouts, chopped apples, and chopped onions. Top with a tablespoon of olive oil and the red wine vinegar. Toss to coat then spread them out evenly on the cookie sheet.

5. Bake at 425 degrees for 20 minutes. Chop up your bacon, add it to the mix, and toss things around. Return to the oven for another 10 minutes.

6. Add salt and pepper to taste.

7. I served this dish over white rice as a main dish, but it also makes a really good side all by itself.