I try to get my kids to talk wrong but, they are way too smart. "Dad! It's not 'Balentime's', it's 'Val-en-tine's Day!" "Dad! It's not 'punkin', it's 'pump-kin pie!" "Dad! It's not 'samich', it's 'sand-wich!" FINE, whatever, you little ingrates.
My day started out with a leisurely 10 1/2 miler. I was going to add 2 more, but discretion prevailed and it was a good decision. My calves are finally feeling normal (I think it was from tensing/clenching on the glare ice that was everywhere) and it was best not to push it. I will add a couple miles next Saturday instead.
I came home to my kids eating a breakfast of - what? - giant, heart shaped -- no, not pancakes or omelets or french toast with a heart-shaped hole punched in the middle and a fried egg in the hole (thanks MS) -- thickly frosted sugar cookies. Really!? Really! Aghast, I inquired to my lovely wife what the hell is going on here. A's response, "Oh, honey, it's OK. I said they could and they also have some cheddar cheese and milk." Breakfast of champions?
Apparently F has recovered fully from the barfy stomach bug he woke up with yesterday. We were awoken at 5 AM by F - "Mom, I'm hungry." "Go downstairs, Dad will be right down to get you something." I head downstairs to find F with his head in the toilet, heaving. I yell back up the stairs, "Honey, F isn't hungry. He's puking." I come back to the bathroom and he is standing there peeing and then suddenly he is back with his head in the toilet. "Geeze, kid. Flush one of those things down. Now, go wash and sanitize your hands."
No comments:
Post a Comment