An Ode to Good Parents

I'm straight up obsessed with my parents. I'm often taken aback by good my parents are. They're so good. They're the kind of people I guess it's okay to be obsessed with. At least I'm not obsessed with the leaders of some weird cult or something. This thought is very prevalent to me now, however, because I am moving out again after a glorious summer home. I figured I would take to my blog to get rid of some of the thoughts that were cartwheeling around my head all day.

I honestly think my mother is the smartest person on the planet. Straight up, my mother could kill somebody and I would probably be like "yes, this was a good idea". Because of my unwavering trust in Michele Moon and the things she has taught me are important, I am passionate about things that the rest of the world doesn't seem to care about. An excellent example of this was my freshman year of college, I was helping a friend move into her room and audibly gasped when I watched her put her t-shirt sheets onto her BARE MATTRESS. No mattress pad. It was like witnessing something from a horror movie. I still talk about it all the time. All the time. Nobody I ever tell this story to ever seems affected by it the way that I was. Nobody except my mom, actually. She was rightfully outraged. I'm glad my mother taught me to care about garbage like that.

My mom is genuinely the most talented person I know. Talented to the point that it's almost annoying. The thing about my mother and her talent, though, is that she never talks about it. The second I ever feel insecure, I tell people about being a professional ballerina. It's my go-to impressive anecdote. "Hi, I'm Mallory and I get to dance professionally for a living." It's insufferable. I'm a trash person. My mother, on the other hand never tells people she can sing and suddenly she's asked to sing in church and the voice of an angel just kind of punches people in the face. Anyway, I digress. She is always mildly horrified to receive this much praise. It tends to make her uncomfortable. All I'm saying is that it's just another wonderful thing about my mother. She doesn't ever boast about herself. If anything, she boasts about other people to build them up. The woman is all class.

My dad is the real life Atticus Finch. I remember being in seventh grade english and reading To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time and telling literally every person I was near "guys, I think this character was based on my dad" absolutely sincerely. My dad's moral compass is STRAIGHT ON. I could pass as a nine year old well into my teenage years. I didn't start looking like a fifteen year old until like last week. A perceived perk of my eternal baby face would be that I could order off of the kids' menu for years. It seemed like a real win/win situation for everybody involved. Kids' meals are marginally cheaper, smaller and didn't seem like as much as a waste. I even liked the food on the kids' menus better. I remember vividly, to my annoyance that whenever I wanted a meal from the kids' menu, my dad would always tell the server that I was not under the maximum age requirement. Though at the time I regarded this as super lame, I look back and always smile about it. I love that my father has the conscience to be honest about stupid things that actually aren't that stupid.

My father is also the most tender man I've ever met. I love it so much. My dad tears up almost every time my mother sings. He sits in quiet emotion when he listens to the Big Fish soundtrack... The list goes on and on. People are often telling me how "intimidating" my dad is, which he loves, but I always try to impart on them exactly how tender my dad actually is. If only they knew that he cries every time he watches me dance on stage. I love that my dad is a cryer. I love that he feels joy and pain empathetically. Because of his shining example of emotion, I honestly believe that if you don't cry during certain books or movies or life experiences that you are a robot (About Time- it's a killer.) I literally cannot relate to people who don't experience emotion this way. Also, a word of advice: if you meet someone that doesn't weep inconsolably while listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, stab them in the chest and you will find an electrical box where their heart is supposed to be.

If you're still holding on by the end of this rant, congratulations. You made it. You probably think I'm a lunatic, but I hope my message comes across okay. All that I'm trying to say is that my parents are better than anybody else's. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm simply stating a fact. Sorry. I'm obsessed with Shawn and Michele Moon. Amen.

Sweet Potato fries. (96% of my diet.)

Been a year since I last posted, and so much in my life is different! Life is weird and wonderful. That being said,  one thing is the same. I still love to cook! Throughout this exciting process of moving out and discovering the kitchen, I have concocted the BEST EVER baked sweet potato fry recipe. Seriously, ask anybody. They'll tell you they're the best.

I figure I'll share, because these are too good to keep locked away.

Sweet potato fries:

2 Sweet potatoes
2 TBSP Olive Oil
2 Tsp Brown Sugar (I know it seems weird, just TRUST.)
1/2 Tsp Onion Powder
1/2 Tsp Garlic Powder
1/2 Tsp Crushed Dried Rosemary
Pepper (to taste)
Salt (to taste. The more, the better in my opinion.)

Preheat oven to 425


Put your baking sheet into your oven and let it heat up while the oven preheats. Peel and cut sweet potato into carrot stick sized pieces. (This is the best way I can think to describe this.) In a large bowl, add sweet potatoes, oil, sugar, garlic and onion powder, rosemary and pepper. Toss to combine. Pour the potatoes onto your SCREAMING hot baking sheet. Without scalding your hands off, arrange the fries into a single layer, or they'll steam and they wont get crispy. Bake for 25-30 minutes, flipping halfway through. Salt them the second they come out of the oven. Serve with fry sauce. Or don't. (But actually do, it makes everything better.) Eat. Cry. Thank me forever.

You're welcome.

Xo- Scout