The purest joy in life, I’ve often said, is getting a package. Who is more loved than the UPS guy? We moved out of our old UPS guy’s zone three years ago, and he still greets me by name whenever I see him. When we were expecting Iris, I basically treated her like a package, something we preordered well before its release date. “Is my little buddy coming out today?” I would ask Laurie, in the same I ask, “Any packages for me?” when I’m expecting something from Amazon.

The flip side of this, of course, is the depression that results from many consecutive days of junk mail. Around here, junk mail is defined as anything other than paychecks, packages, cards, or magazines. We had not received any of these things since last Tuesday. I was starting to flinch as I opened the mailbox.

Then, today, there was a package from Penzeys spices. I had ordered some new chili powder. I didn’t think there would ever be a time in my life when I’d be thrilled to get a package of mild chili powder, but I told Iris, “This chili powder is not spicy!” She and Laurie opened the box. Iris has package fever, just like me. She tasted the chili powder and pronounced it good. Enchiladas tomorrow! And maybe a paycheck or an issue of Saveur? Please?

From today’s New York Times:

Mom Puts Family on Her Meal Plan

> When my first son was little, I fed him puréed chunks of whatever my husband and I had for dinner. I congratulated myself when he showed a precocious affection for capers. The trick, I explained to friends who were amazed at his willingness to eat chopped broccolini, was to resist the child’s capricious demands for separate meals. Fortitude, I counseled.

> Then, of course, came No. 2.

> My second son has stubbornly adhered to a diet of mostly white foods for nearly six years: pasta, rice, cheese, bread, potatoes, chicken. He also eats red meat, baby carrots and chocolate. Recently, in what is being regarded as a green revolution, he has added edamame and string beans.

This seems to be one of those things that surprises every parent. It’s like lack of sleep: you know you’re going to lose sleep, but until you get there, you don’t really just how much sleep you’re going to lose, and you think about going on Wikipedia to learn about death from sleep-deprivation, except you are too tired to Wikipedia.

Similarly, I think we all know that our children are delivered with their own personalities, but it’s still wacky to see it in action. Kids are not play-dough. They’re not even really stiff refrigerator cookie dough. (Warning: uncharacteristic touchy-feely ahead.) They’re marble. Every marble sculpture is beautiful in its own way, right? But you can’t mod your sculpture without breaking it. Maybe you can throw a coat of paint on it for special occasions.

What was I talking about?

The bartending game at bathtime rolls along unabated. Lately, it goes like this. Hello Kitty, the bartender, is having a promotion where you can taste three seasonal or theme drinks for free, but if you want to drink the whole thing, you have to pay. Unfortunately, the fearsome pirate K. Rool and his minion (whose name is Minion) keep coming into the bar and drinking everything without paying up.

Recent drinks have included:

* The Beach Towel Umbrella
* The Soap
* Sharkwater
* The Swimsuit
* The Coral Reef
* The Wind
* The April Shower
* The Hat
* The Lobster Cooler

If you have any drink ideas, please let me know, because I am seriously running out.

In Sunday’s paper:

[Aroma Therapy](http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/pacificnw07082007/2003775946_pacificptaste08.html)

This was about the most fun I’ve had writing an article. Thanks, [Becky](http://www.seasonalcornucopia.com/)! Thanks, [Dana](http://www.tastingmenu.com/)! During the photo shoot, I did at one point drop a piece of dry ice into the soup. That was cool. Not enough soups are carbonated.

Annie’s Shells and Morels.