The Central Coast is not exactly a hotbed for new, diverse dining experiences. So when something new shows-up… I. Am. On. It. One such place is the chicly designed Paso Robles Public Market. For the record, it’s infinitely more attractive design-wise than the not yet opened SLO Public Market. But I’m not complaining. I can overlook wire barnyard statues and windmills and white Italian fountains and giant rusted tractor sculptures squeezed into one small street corner for some new tacos and Thai food.
So this one time we all went to the Paso Market for lunch. It was possibly just before the pandemic or maybe during the pandemic. No one knows. The pandemic has boiled our brains and all sense of time. Well we’ll never forget this trip because as we’re climbing into James’ car, the boys point into the gutter where we’re parked and are like, “What’s that?”
Of course I looked at what they were pointing at. And the image was permanently burned into my brain for the rest of my life. It was a long rectangular piece of completely flat fur. With a tail. Seriously it was perfectly rectangular and flat. And the boys gleefully deemed it “Rat Bacon” and loved to torture me by talking about it and giggling uncontrollably as it incited my gag reflex and immediate plugging of my ears.
I thought nothing could be worse than Rat Bacon.
Until yesterday. Yesterday James goes to use the gas grill and he exclaims “Ohhh no….” and thankfully I don’t have a visual, but just three words shot right past Rat Bacon into outer space. And those three words? Barbecued Baby Mice. Yeah, we’re both gonna vomit just reading this. I’m sorry.
The boys have so much fun with this information that I have to not only put my headphones in and listen to a podcast to drown out all sound, but I also have to sharply threaten a full 7-day screen ban if one more word is spoken. Including smacking your lips while giggling evilly, “Finger-lickin’ good!” Nate.
Today was the very first day of fifth grade and Middle School. Ack. It’s almost inconceivable. And of course I wanted a first day of school picture, which has been a motherly indulgence since basically second grade. Jacob tells me he won’t smile because he can’t seem to give a good smile on demand. I can’t argue with that. Strong self-awareness.
So I give them a two-minute pass on the screen time threat. Those two minutes of rodent mom torture produced genuine smiles and gleeful expressions captured digitally for all to enjoy. Now back to school you go.