All boys descend on me in sing-songy tattletale voice:
All boys: “MOMMMM!!! Dad’s drinking a root beer and he won’t share it with us!”
Me *deadpan*: “Oh really.”
All boys: “YEAH!!! The rootbeer says “DAD’S” on it and Dad said it’s HIS because it says “DAD’S” on it!”
Me: “That sounds extremely legit to me.”
***I walk into the kitchen where Dave is***
Dave: “I worked hard today and this is my reward.”
Josh as a boy representative: “Well, we worked hard in school for 180 days… what do we get?”
Me: “You get to be a child and live in this house, drinking in the love and security of our family unit.
….and you all nailed your report cards so we got takeout from your favorite restuarant…. just last Thursday.”
Boom.
Memories seem to grow very short around here in the light of extreme root beer thirst. They must be parched, weaving nimbly through the bountiful offerings of milk, water and chocolate milk. Cry me a river kids…then get out your paddles and start heading upstream.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
