Never Enough: Baked Blackberry-Banana Oatmeal

-I've started the habit of keeping frozen berries on hand at all times because they make life better.-

Can we take a moment to talk about oatmeal? I know it's not the most riveting subject. Oatmeal hardly ever is, especially when you relegate it as simply a pasty beige goop. It doesn't have the saucy, cheese-tasting goodness of a perfectly soft boiled egg's yolk, nor the crunchy, porcine goodness that is only the crispiest farmers' market bacon. And then there are cinnamon rolls. The yeasty, homemade kind with crusty bits of cinnamon sugar peaking out of the folds and an aroma that curls through the house curing everything from Mondays to broken hearts. Then there's all cream cheese icing, the sort that you slather on with a spatula as if you were going to mason together a wall of sticky buns.

I mean, I dig oatmeal. But no oatmeal is really ever gonna match that. Let's be honest.

Thing is: cinnamon buns are a fuck-ton of work. Oatmeal? Not so much. It's a snap, and you can still craft some truly flavorful recipes with minimal effort that'll ensure you aren't missing any cinnamon buns. And, heck, you can serve it up with some soft boiled eggs and bacon just fine.

I was lucky in that I was never served goop. My dad, who usually worked well past nine, ten, sometimes eleven o'clock at night, was the one who made my brother and I our lunches for school and ensured we ate a halfway decent breakfast. This left my mom to have a peaceful, child free morning before she went off to teach a room full of third graders then come home to watch her own kids.

Look a Hot Mess: Sweet Potato Biscuits

-Sweet potato biscuits for when you look like a hot mess.-

So I know I'm the furtherest thing from a fashion plate, a term that still perplexes me because if I can't eat cake on it then it has no business being a plate of any sort, but I actually can lace up my shoes and dress myself without anyone having to worry. At times I can even put together a simple outfit with coordinating accessories such as a pair of leather gloves and actually look competent. For example, the other day I happened to pair some boating shoes with socks that weren't white (my usual per diem), some indigo washed jeans the color of a sharp bruise, a smart pea coat, hand knit gray scarf, glasses, and a tousled dress shirt in a perfectly smart olive color. Somehow it all worked and I received a compliment or two. Huzzah.

I'm not sure I can properly articulate how proud I am when I look like a real adult.

I can't imagine I will ever be able to call myself fashionable. I'll keep at it, but the idea of washing whites and colors separately, never mind my sheer avoidance of the phrase "Dry Clean Only", doesn't provide much hope. I generally just heave myself at the closet and hope for the best every day.

Still, once or twice I have been mistaken for a homeless person. The first time, shamefully, by my mother.