That is pretty bad news, actually

The workingness of my computer is ebbing at the moment, taking 250 beach and July 4th and blogger-hangout pictures with it. I can see them, receding with the tide. Lost to the sea of a frequently abused four-and-a-half-year-old laptop. (It's actually fine, Dan has already mostly fixed it, but it's more difficult to make that situation sound nautical. Did I mention I recently visited the shore?) As such, I am here to enthrall you with my words alone, just like in the olden days. The Friendster blog days.

First, a Bon Appetit update: very exciting news! I finally had a mild catastrophe with Recipe #11. I will…have to show you a picture. Later. And let me just say that my second mild catastrophe is currently in the works and it involves fish and Scandinavian liquor. So even if you can't see it yet, rest assured that I am busily torturing my family generating content.

Next, a short story about being the parent of a two-and-two-thirds-year-old:

The screaming has reached an intensity, and more importantly, a duration at which I can no longer remember my life before the screaming began. I cling feebly to sanity by mentally projecting myself into the future, to a time far beyond the screaming, where I carry on an imaginary conversation with sympathetic friends and family about how difficult this period of my life was. "It was miserable," I tell them. "You have no idea." My hypothetical confidantes nod, duly impressed by how stricken my expression becomes even after all these years. How traumatizing can it be to usher one child through an uncrowded Target? they may think to themselves but they do not say aloud.

Last, a play in one act about being the parent of an almost-five-year-old:

"Mom, come here. I need to tell you something."

"Is it good or bad?"

"Kind of bad, but it's going to be okay."

"You're making me nervous."

I am led down the hallway, to a television playing a nature program. She holds my hand for reassurance.

"Mom, the dodo bird. Is. EXTINCT."