Fiddledaddy was awfully amused at the fact that his wife isn’t the only woman who is derelict in her oven cleaning duties. Although, he hastened to add, “You seem to win the award for going the longest amount of time without lifting a finger to clean the oven.” I’m paraphrasing. And embellishing.
Indeed. Nine years. Really? No one can top that?
I ventured into Wal•Mart today to purchase ice cream for a sick 6 year old. She’s been unable to swallow anything all day, but she thought that she might be persuaded to choke down some party cake confetti ice cream. Which is basically just a carton of sugar with sprinkles added to make it pretty.
But, I totally understand her need.
I had Emme and Jensen with me. Jensen was trapped in his stroller, because he refused to be wrangled into the shopping cart. And wrestle him I did. Right there in the parking lot. You might have seen it on the news. In the end, he won, and I gently placed him in the stroller.
Remember, he is able to deftly escape from said stroller, whenever I pause too long. I had control of the stroller, and Emme commandeered the shopping cart. Taking great care not to mow down too many senior citizens. Since we were there for ice cream, I decided that I might as well get all the grocery shopping done.
Because the stupid stick is never far from where I’m standing.
We raced through the store at breakneck speed. Whereas, when I’m alone, I like to shop at the speed of smell. We quickly zipped through the girl’s department to eye underdrawers and such, and as we continued, I noticed that Jensen had done a little shopping of his own. Unbeknownst to me. After receiving more than a few disapproving glances, I peered over the stroller to see my young son holding a hanger, with a little girl bra dangling from his pointer finger. And he wore a wide grin on his 3 year old face.
His sister was mortified.
His father will be so proud.
Note to self: investigate military academy. Again.
At about this time I received a text from his father with a request for Rocky Road Ice Cream. Yes, I have joined this century, and have acquired the ability to text.
Although, it just bugs me when I can’t punctuate correctly, or use caps where needed. As you might imagine, it takes me forever to type in a short sentence, like, “Your son is fingering the little girl lingerie.”
So, I gave up. He’ll read about it on the blog.
Needless to say, I served ice cream for dinner. And I just had some for dessert. I’ll let you all know when I find my metabolism again.
I believe it’s stashed in the same vicinity as my sanity.