(no subject)
I have a long and perhaps uncharacteristic story to tell, sometime soon. I'm working on it.
Today, for now, a short, typical one, which I have time to write:
A few days ago, we were all in the car to go grocery shopping. Mike declared he was hungry, and we try never to shop while suffering anything like the munchies, because that can result in bulk purchases of things like Pizza Rolls. I said I wasn't all that hungry, and that Mike could choose some drive-thru to hit up if he wanted; I had no opinion on the matter. Mike says, "Ok, well then you know where I'm gonna go, right?" I was like, "...no?" and he wanted me to guess. "Taco Bell?" No. "Uhh..." After another guess or two, I realized with horror that of course he wanted to go where I will never go, because I abhor it, because it is awful: Burger King. I will have no part of Burger King. But since I was just along for the ride, fine, whatever, it's his funeral. He pulls up to the drive-thru and muses aloud, "Hm, what is Daddy going to get from Burger King?" I mutter under my breath, "The runs." As Mike proceeds to order some combo meal from hell and the garbled-sounding employee on the other side of the speaker is already having difficulty understanding our order, Jake simultaneously rolls down his window in the back seat and says "I'd like to order RUNS! I want some RUNS, PLEASE! I would like RUNS!" And he giggles, having essentially no idea what he's saying, but pretty sure that it's funny, and he keeps ordering. He orders about a dozen "runs," and a chicken kid's meal for himself. All at the same time Daddy is attempting to order. It was absolute chaos, and the poor employee was like, "What? I'm sorry, what?" I couldn't keep from laughing at least a little, and then Jake giggled more, and pretty soon we were laughing uncontrollably, tears in my eyes. Once in awhile, a little poop humor and an almost-3-year-old can create a magical, mood-improving alchemy, which works very potently on the likes of me. It's been dark times, recently.
Today, my little boy turns 3. Happy Birthday to Jake!
Today, for now, a short, typical one, which I have time to write:
A few days ago, we were all in the car to go grocery shopping. Mike declared he was hungry, and we try never to shop while suffering anything like the munchies, because that can result in bulk purchases of things like Pizza Rolls. I said I wasn't all that hungry, and that Mike could choose some drive-thru to hit up if he wanted; I had no opinion on the matter. Mike says, "Ok, well then you know where I'm gonna go, right?" I was like, "...no?" and he wanted me to guess. "Taco Bell?" No. "Uhh..." After another guess or two, I realized with horror that of course he wanted to go where I will never go, because I abhor it, because it is awful: Burger King. I will have no part of Burger King. But since I was just along for the ride, fine, whatever, it's his funeral. He pulls up to the drive-thru and muses aloud, "Hm, what is Daddy going to get from Burger King?" I mutter under my breath, "The runs." As Mike proceeds to order some combo meal from hell and the garbled-sounding employee on the other side of the speaker is already having difficulty understanding our order, Jake simultaneously rolls down his window in the back seat and says "I'd like to order RUNS! I want some RUNS, PLEASE! I would like RUNS!" And he giggles, having essentially no idea what he's saying, but pretty sure that it's funny, and he keeps ordering. He orders about a dozen "runs," and a chicken kid's meal for himself. All at the same time Daddy is attempting to order. It was absolute chaos, and the poor employee was like, "What? I'm sorry, what?" I couldn't keep from laughing at least a little, and then Jake giggled more, and pretty soon we were laughing uncontrollably, tears in my eyes. Once in awhile, a little poop humor and an almost-3-year-old can create a magical, mood-improving alchemy, which works very potently on the likes of me. It's been dark times, recently.
Today, my little boy turns 3. Happy Birthday to Jake!