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I just got back from Puerto Rico. I have a massive sunburn-that-will-surely-eventually-turn-into-a-tan-if-it-doesn’t-peel-off-first. I have the world’s worst rainforest hair that kinked and curled and frizzed no matter how many times I swiped at it with a flat iron. I have a brand new attitude, one that’s relaxed and motivated and reinvigorated and ready to start some new things.

But I’ll get to my trip un momento.

First, I was thinking about something just a minute ago. See, at my house we have this little tradition. At least one night a week all six of us eat around the dinner table (pathetic stats, I know, but my husband works out of town Monday-Friday. On those nights, the five of us left hanging at home usually just eat around a pan of macaroni).

But that little bit of yuck is totally beside the point.

So as I was saying, at least one night a week we all eat around the dinner table. And we talk. And we laugh. And we (the kids) fight over who gets the biggest slice of pizza (Hey—I never said I actually cook. That is also totally not the point). And at the end of all this round-table chaos—before anyone is allowed to leave the table—each person has to share the best and worst thing that happened to them that day. The answers vary of course. Sometimes the best thing is a trip to a movie, or a child gets his license, or another found a penny, or someone (me) bought new shoes. Sometimes the worst is a bad grade on a test, or fight with a friend, or grounding from Xbox, or…everyone hates what we’re eating.

Seriously, my family can be so ungrateful.

Anyway, I love this part of our routine. And from all indication, my kids love it too. We’ve forgotten exactly twice, and the outrage was insane. The yelling. The madness. The cursing. The gnashing of teeth. And that was just from my husband.
But here’s the thing: As much as I love this tradition, I do not love the title. Because the title is simply this: “Name the best and worst thing that happened today.”

I came up with that piece of literary genius. And it’s blah. Boring. Completely unoriginal.

But see. I read a book this week. On my vacation. And to my complete delight, the characters had the same dinnertime routine as me and my family. But here was the total bummerness of it.

They had such a cooler title. And here it is:

“Suck and Sweet”

Seriously. That’s what they called it. “Name your ‘suck and sweet’ for today.
And now I want to change our name. And I realize that it might be inappropriate for my five-year-old to refer to our tradition in this crass way. But I don’t care. That book’s game had a better title, and I want it. I want it now.

But I wonder if that’s plagiarism. I wonder if the author of the book would find out. I wonder if my kids would make the transition. I wonder why some people are so much more creative than me. I wonder why I like this title so much.

Sigh.

I had the best vacation. The best.

It did not suck. In fact, it was sweet.

And I’ll tell you about it next time.

Amy