Dark Chocolate Raspberry Granola

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I hate pedestrian crosswalks.

Not the ones you can cross by your own free will, but those that require you to press a button.

I just…can’t.

When I look at it, I see the man who didn’t wash his hands, the child who just wiped their nose, or the woman who picked up after her dog.

I see a germ here,

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here,

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and here.

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And then exponentially increased because we all know there’s an epidemic of gross going on down there.

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So I adapt.

I cover my hand with my shirtsleeve. Sometimes I use my purse. I’ve even used my hip to press that damn button.

And yet.

If I’m at party, and there are communal snacks, I’m ok with it.

Hands diving into a bag of chips? No big.

Only want half of that cookie? That’s cool, break it in half and we’ll share.

Grab a handful of granola? Just make sure you have it with some coconut yogurt too.

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Just don’t ask me to hit the crosswalk button on our walk home.

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Chewy Granola Cookies

I am not the easiest person to live with.

For one, I’m becoming my mother at the wee age of 30.  I realized this when I started to wash out the kitchen trash can last weekend.  Really, who does that?  My mom.  Oh, and me.

Also like my mother, I ask, without fail, the second after Roo takes a bite of food how it is.  (FYI “it’s good,” is not a proper response.)

Second, there were a few times where it was pointed out that I have a hard time throwing things away.

“Babe, we have so many empty glass jars.  I feel like we’re one away from being cast on Hoarders.”

“What are you talking about?  I use them, like all the time.”

“For what?  Besides leaving them in a paper bag on the floor.”

“That’s where they live!  I don’t have any cupboard space.”

“Because there’s no room in the cupboard from all your glass jars.”

Lastly, I may or may not have had two meltdowns so far this week.  But in my defense, the first was from burning my hand….by grabbing a pan that had been in the oven.  The second was after realizing there was shattered glass in every single cup we owned….because I dropped a bowl on top of those cups and it um, shattered.

So when Roo asks if there’s a way he can have cookies at ‘snack,’ (which to me is essentially second breakfast), I try to make it happen.  After all, I need to keep someone around to identify my body when it’s found underneath a mountain of fallen glass jars.

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