We got the kids’ school pictures back.

Here is the group shot of the fourth grade class.

Guess which one’s mine.

Yep, that’s his I Heart Bacon T-shirt. In my defense, school pictures were on a Wednesday this year and I’m on a bus for work by 6:20am on Wednesdays. {Bus? Did someone say bus? I’m pretty sure I just threw my husband under it.}

I told CC that if we wanted #5 to wear a decent shirt for school pictures next year, he would have to be the adult here because I already blew it. I couldn’t keep a straight face when I pulled this out of the envelope.

What’s your favorite school picture story?

Sh*t My Dog Eats

This is Casey.

Here is a partial list of contraband items she has eaten or attempted to eat so far in her two and a half years on earth:

The last half of the Gouda.

The face off a plastic polar bear.

Nails (as in threepenny, not finger-)

Poop (confirmed: deer, dog, and human).

Used Kleenexes.

Used Band-aids.

Half a roast chicken, including bones.

Rubber bands.

A tax bill.

The cable remote.

Feminine hygiene products.

Five single flip flops, each from a different $4.99 Old Navy pair.

One Keene sandal, men’s, size 11, $100 pair.

A significant hole in the sleeve of a $500 Ralph Lauren suit jacket.

Did I mention nails?

Thumbtacks, with and without a plastic coating.

Lots and lots of candy. Including chocolate. Including wrappers.

Hairballs pulled out of the tub drain.

Pencils, pens, and magic markers.

A Whopper.

Popsicle sticks.

Glass Christmas ornaments.

The same lamp cord, three times, miraculously unplugging it from the wall before finally biting through the insulation.

Bottle caps: plastic preferred, but metal will do in a pinch.

Several of the little red balls from my throw pillow that contain a hooked metal center.

The tasty plastic squeaker heart in every squeaky toy we’ve ever given them.

A backpack.

My lunch.

My dinner.

My breakfast.

My gross, sweat-drenched Bikram yoga clothes.

My coffee.

CC’s beer.

The last of the Manchego.

Books, though mostly just the corners.

Her own bed.

Her own crate.

Her own harness.

Jack’s face (not in its entirety).

A watch band.

A hand and foot off a Troll doll.

Several Webkinz, the filling of which looks like a terrible case of worms when it’s coming out the other end.

The couch.

Too much of the woodwork in the kitchen.

Not enough of our hideous kitchen wallpaper.

A bag of Oreos that she reached after figuring out how to open the pantry.

Bacon, half a pound, and the paper towel it was draining on. Though not the plate.

One-third of a sweet sopressata salami, which, having been consumed so soon after the aforementioned half pound of bacon (about 36 hours later), she immediately vomited back up, and then re-ate.

What sh*t does your dog (or child, or significant other) eat?

This sandwich will change your life.

#5 was complaining of a tummy ache this afternoon. He also had a boo-boo, but he wasn’t complaining about that, because he had this:

A bacon bandaid, sent to him by loyal reader and fan of #5, my friend Genny. As we all know, bacon makes everything better. It’s a logical choice for a bandaid. We have found the bacon bandaids to be more effective on boo-boos than kisses.

CC set him on the couch and brought him a glass of water and went back to making lunch.

That? Oh, that’s fifteen pounds of bacon. Minus lunch already in progress.

(If you’re lucky enough to live near an Original Pancake House, you may be interested to know that you can now buy their bacon by the case for four dollars per pound. Around here, that’s way cheap for bacon, and it’s damn tasty.)

#5: (yells from the couch) I smell bacon!

CC: You are correct. Would you like a piece?

#5: BACON!!!!

CC: What about your tummy ache?

#5: BACON!!!! BACON!!!!

CC: Have you eaten anything today?

#5: Um, no.

CC: Anything at all?

#5: No.

CC: Remember yesterday when I told you that you were going to starve to death playing video games because you wouldn’t stop to eat anything?

#5: Yes.

CC: That’s what’s happening right now.

#5: Oh.

CC: That’s why you have a tummy ache.

#5: Oh. (waits quietly for a minute) So. . . can I have some bacon?

CC’s plan was to make everyone BLT’s for lunch:

Isn’t it lovely? I saw a blurb on TV once about food photographers and all the creepy things they have to do to their food to make it photogenic. I think of that every time I see pretty food in advertising. It makes me want to take a shower. This here is undoctored bacon, folks.

CC asked #5 if he wanted a BLT.

#5: I don’t really like lettuce. I also don’t like tomatoes.

Of course you don’t.

I loves me a good BLT. But something else was speaking to my soul today:

Peanut Butter & Bacon. I make it a point to try to turn everyone that I meet on to the PB&B (unless they have a peanut allergy or don’t eat pork, in which case? More for me). Most people initially put up a lot of resistance. Those people are merely unenlightened, and as a PB&B disciple, it’s up to me to show them the path to true happiness and peace of mind.

CC: What about peanut butter and bacon?

#5: I don’t like peanut butter.

Me: Commie!

#5: (sticks tongue out at me)

CC: Stop that. Both of you. Here, eat your sandwich.

The #5 special

What do you say- PB&B: enlightenment or blasphemy? What’s your favorite way to eat bacon?