Cecilia has to pick her high school classes this week. Yeah, it took a hot minute for that to sink in initially.

If I could go back to my eighth grade self and give him one bit of advice it would be to dial back the stress and subsequent anxiety by a factor of 10. The “right” classes and the “right” school matter far less than the everyday habits that you develop during this time.

Those are far better indicators, and far better tools, to navigate through life.

Don’t believe me, eight grade self? Maybe you’ll listen to Leonard Cohen. Adolescents seem to gel with his vibe:

Sometimes when you no longer see yourself as the hero of your own drama, you know, expecting victory after victory, and you understand deeply that this is not paradise and you’re not gonna get it all straight.

I found that things got a lot easier when I no longer expected to win.

You understand that, you abandon your masterpiece, and you sink into the real masterpiece…

We started Saturday morning much the same way we ended Friday night: blood and body fluids in the bathroom.

Ally had a very stubborn loose molar that would not come out.

I took blood splatter reference photos for a future book but she eventually get it out.

Tooth problem solved it was back to crafts and tablet time (with soft foods).

While I was protecting the dining room table from glue stick debris, Michelle was clearing the walk for future Amazon deliveries.

This is the “bad bangs” face. She was very concerned her long bangs were going to interfere with her enjoyment and viewing of the show later that night.

Five minutes at Fernando’s took care of it.

We then had to contend with the reaction that they were now “crooked and too short.”

Not going to win that one.

Taking a few minutes to prep some dough for later use.

If you are using an Ooni, using 00 dough makes a huge difference. Easy to handle, quick cook.

There was a couple big pieces of transfer station news this week.

First, the dump drama. This was reported to me secondhand. I enjoy that blog has cultivated my transfer station rep to the point that I regularly get random weekend texts from friends using the transfer station when they see something odd.

A few years ago, I probably could have pitched Netflix a reality show on the transfer station.

Ok, the drama. As usual, it involved packing material, the most contentious of transfer station items. Packing material is not recyclable. An attendants tried to point this out. The person took exception. Voices were raised. It did not escalate to the point of violence, but small town scuttlebutt ensued.

Other fun fact: used pizza boxes should also not be recycled. They are main house trash.

Second bit of news, the main house gargoyle now has a friend.

One day I need to get the backstory on these guys.

The evening was the main event of the day. We went into the city to see Hamilton. Michelle and I had seen it before but the girls had yet to see it live.

First, a pre-show stop at our favorite pizza and ice cream company where I learned an important lesson about the difference between anchovies.

White anchovies do not make a great pizza topping. White anchovies are cured far less than regular tinned anchovies and don’t offer much as a topping. Your welcome.

The show was excellent. Given how ubiquitous and pervasive both the show and Miranda have become over the years, it’s easy to forget just how amazing it is that a musical exists about Alexander Hamilton and that it is also manages to be really good.

“It’s Quiet Uptown” is as rough as anything Pixar can throw at a parent’s emotions.

The rest of the night was spent trying to get out of the parking garage and escape the smell of leftover white anchovy pizza.

Have a great Sunday!