Burnt Tacos and Beyonce'

For some reason, my kids love and adore to remember when I was the most fallible. Like the night I burned taco shells not once, not twice, but three times. We lived in Virginia at the time, and our home was 3 blocks away from an aged IGA. DS2 pedalled his bike 3 times for fresh taco shells.

Ever since, I have been given to burning taco shells. Lately I have been using Azteca tortilla shells, a cool kind of tortilla that you drape over little boxes that come in the package. Bake them for 8 minutes and voila! Crispy shells shaped like little bowls for your salad and taco fixin's.

Alas, our nearby grocery has STOPPED CARRYING these gems and I had to resort to normal taco shells for dinner tonight.

Meanwhile, DD called this afternoon and asked if we would be home tonight about 6. Sure, I said, why don't you just stay for dinner? Um, ok, she said, but there will be three of us.

I was thrilled. DD and LO's sister, Little Bit, moved back to town in October from Hawaii, and a third, and a surprise, surely meant their little brother was visiting from Nearby City.

He was, and when he came in the front door, he ran all the way to the kitchen to tackle me with hugs and kisses. Wow. What a great reunion. GJ was named for DH; the G is the same as DH's middle name.

I had baked my last pkg of Azteca tortilla shells and then turned the oven off and ran in the shells -- or so I thought. As I chopped and shredded for tacos, I smell something very, very familiar. Something like -- like burnt tacos.

Alas, I had not turned the oven off, but the wrong way to "broil." And broil they did. Crispeeee.

I tossed the black ones and saved the sienna ones. Burnt sienna, that is. No one complained, and every one was eaten; must not have been too gross.

DH built a bonfire in the back yard and we roasted marshmallows. Gee, we are used to girls. GJ, the grandson, ran around with the metal roasting tool on the long pole, poked sticks in the fire, slung marshmallow on the dog, and otherwise acted like a true boy. It was great. I believe every person in the family at some point in the night said, "Don't run in the FIRE!"

Finally we came inside for a game of spoons. It was a hard-fought game. Everyone lost about equally so no one's feelings were hurt.

At one point, we were all counting in Espanol. We passed nueve, dies, then went on to once, doce, trece, and GJ piped up. "Beyonce' ! "

It was great to see him. They will be back tomorrow.