Bad Strawberries

The kids ate dinner alright and then they wanted their post-dinner snacks.  Smella wanted strawberries.  No surprise because she will eat ANY fruit and/or vegetable you put in front of her.  However, it was surprising when Big D said he’d like some strawberries too.  Okay, he actually said he wanted ONE strawberry, but still when Big D says he wants a fruit or vegetable, you should jump at the opportunity because it only happens once or twice a year.  Unfortunately, the package of strawberries in the fridge had been in there a few days too long so they were bruised and ugly and somewhat disgusting overall.  And since it’s Thursday evening and Friday is grocery shopping night, there’s not much to eat around here unless I can interest you in a nice mustard and cream of celery sandwich.  Oh, that’s right we’re out of bread too.  Nevermind.  Suffice it to say, the kids were not amused.

But being the big hero daddy (and ice cream fanatic) that I am, after the wife went to work I announced to the kids that we were going to get some cheap sundaes at McDonald’s.  So after getting all three of them halfway presentable in public, repeatedly helping them into their shoes (Boobers likes to play with the velcro), gathering blankies, locking up the house, and herding them out to the truck, it was a wee bit irritating to open the door and see that Boobers had no car seat.  I forgot we put it in the other car when we had the truck worked on.  Dammit.  Here’s the problem with kids:  they don’t let you off that easy.  So in order to calm them down, I had to agree to play outside with them for a while.  What the hell, they were already dressed and everything.

When I say “playing outside with them,” I mean to say “chasing the one-year-old

Boobers

around the yard while the other two

Big D and Smella

scream and fight over who gets to play with which car first.”

After that, we came in and listened to Modest Mouse’s The Moon & Antarctica.  All three of the kids enjoy music quite a bit.  Smella begged, “Dance me Daddy,” which translates into “pick me up and spin me around until I barf Daddy.”  I complied.  Then they all got baths, Big D lost an incisor while I was brushing his teeth (that’s a bloody mess), and now they’re all in bed.  And besides folding and hanging a couple baskets of laundry, my work is done.  Now, if only we had some ice cream up in here…

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