Me: Max, I love you.

Max: Mama, cake.

I choose to believe that concludes the list of Max’s requests when planning a month on a desert island. Mama, cake. Done.

Oh, you’re tuning in today to hear about the Easter egg triumphs and tribulations? Remember this: Lithuanian egg dye does not fuck around.

Yesterday, I told my husband Tobias (father of my children, life mate, etc.) that I missed my family. A bit tactless, really, given that my children were sitting in the backseat at the time. What I meant was that I missed my mother, father, sister, brother, cousins, etc., and most of all I miss their puns. Imagine my delight, then, at this:

Frida: Wow, my smoothie cup is full!

Betsy: Yeah, I filled it to the max!

Frida: Max?

Betsy: Not Max like your brother, max like maximum. Ha! That’s funny.

Frida: (thinking)

Frida: You filled it to the FRIDIMUM.

Oh, yes, my little nerdlet is growing her nerdwings and I am so proud I find myself cooing.

• How many date pits can I find on the floor of the kitchen before I am morally required to call the childrens’ schools to warn them of potential after effects?
• While in line at the baker’s (the one who makes special muesli bread for my little half-Germans) may I now begin quietly weeping at the thought of leaving them, or do I need to wait until closer to our mid-June departure?
• If we are not invited to the Father’s Day party at Frida’s school, why was the request to bring snacks ADDRESSED TO THE MOTHERS? (Let’s be real, though – Tobias’ wealth accumulation project takes him 50-70 hours per week. I’ll be the one making the pretzels.)
• And when I made the snacks, decorated the informational placard listing ingredients, packed them in a handsome box and surveyed the somewhat scraggly results, my first thought was, “Wow, Bets, don’t quit your day job.” But I can’t! Can I?