Fully Loaded, Thick and Chewy Granola Bars

With Almonds, Sunflower Seeds, Dark Chocolate, Unsweetened Coconut, Dried Cherries, Dried Cranberries & Golden Raisins

I got up from the floor and brushed off the back of my legs. “We need to vacuum.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” Roo replied.

“There’s cat hair everywhere,” I said, picking at a couple stray hairs on my pants, “When was the last time we vacuumed?”

“You mean when was the last time I vacuumed?

“I vacuum!”

“You’ve never vacuumed. Or take out the trash.”

“I do! And…I thought you liked to do those things.”

“Really?”

I laughed, unable to keep a straight face.  “We need to vacuum.”

The kitchen timer went off before Roo could reply.

“What are you baking?”

“You mean, what are we baking?” I said, removing the granola bars from the oven; the smell of toasted almonds, coconut and cherries filling the apartment.

I could hear Roo getting up from the couch.  “Granola bars?” he asked, as he shuffled in behind me.

“For school. And that little girl who takes away your cookies.”

“E,” Roo smiled, “And she asks.”

He tore off a corner piece, batting the hot crumble between his hands a few times before popping it into his mouth.  “You know what?”

“What?”

“We need to make more of these.”

Date Bars

I’ve been out of sorts the past couple of days.

I don’t know if it’s the weather, the three loads of laundry that’s sitting by our bedroom door-a constant reminder of the chores that need to be done-or that the BU and BC students have returned from winter break.

Ok, I’m lying.  I know it’s the students.

My commute gets longer, the lines at the grocery store are doubled, and there are practically no parking spots at Target.  I feel like I can’t get anything done.

However, there are some benefits.  For instance, being able to witness the scene they make at <insert name of favorite local bar here>, because honestly, we’ve all done it.

And by “we,” I mean girls in their 20s.

And by “it,” I mean like…

Shouting your friend’s name when they arrive.  Not only do you channel Oprah by elongating every syllable in their name, but it’s done at a decibel level equivalent to a plane taking off.

“Kaylee!!!! Kaylee is here! KAAAAAAAY-LEEEEEEE GET YOOOOOUR BUUUUUTTTTT UP IN HEHHHRRRRRRRR!!!!”

Or exclaiming that a song being played is your song.  Sweet Home Alabama was actually a response to Southern Man and Alabama by Neil Young.  It’s no one’s song.  Well, maybe except for Neil Young.

Then singing said song as loud as you can, blanking on most of the lyrics, but making up for it nonsensical English (meh reh na na la la la!)

And as the night progresses, decide that your shoes are akin to walking on hot, fiery coals.  It’s totally logical to take off your shoes and walk around, even though there may be pieces of glass on the floor.  The bar is your living room, right?