Sunday, December 28, 2008

Colder than a witch's picnic

Same shit, different day...just colder.

Sami played the part of the paparazzi; I was the chef peeling cucumbers for the royal eater, who was making funny faces; Kika and Magda were the majestic butt freezers; Tom was the court sleeper, Peter was the cookie hole stuffer, and David was intent on getting himself stuck in a tree. Again.

We arrived at Picnic Mountain with a stroller, two bikes, and three kids. Tom was the only one with legs that don't work yet, so he took the stroller. Peter and David wanted to take their bikes.

'Bad idea', said the incredibly intelligent man holding a cucumber. 'In about two minutes, those lazy kids are going to dump the bikes and want to be carried.'

'You're stupid,' said the smartass lady pushing the sleeping baby with useless legs.

After about, hey, imagine that, two minutes, Peter and David both dropped their bikes, babbling something about wanting to jump on my shoulders.

'I told you so,' said Cucumber Man.

'Well, you're still stupid and I already told you that, so I guess now we're even.'

Cucumber Man narrowly restrained the urge to drop-kick Smartass Woman in the teeth and instead spent approximately four minutes taking bikes back to the car so that kids with perfectly good legs could climb on my back and hitch a free ride. Maybe I am stupid?

After Papa's Broken-back Mountain adventure, I dumped SW & the Lazy Kids off at the front door. I had to go park, but I wanted to get a jump start on getting dinner ready, so I asked Angie to preheat the oven for some frozen pizzas. Maybe I am stupid?

Normally, I forbid Angie to go into the kitchen. This is not because her cooking does not taste good - I really don't know. It is because I am afraid of fire. After burning three oven mitts, a wooden cutting board, two kitchen towels, and an assortment of plastic cooking utensils, I have learned that kitchy no likey Angie.

I parked the car and came back to an unusually smokey house. I raced into the kitchen and quickly realized that I had failed to stress one rather critical step in turning on the oven, which was to check inside the hot box of fire first to make sure that there are no pots, pans, or cast-iron skillets with dry wooden handles that could suddenly burst into flames if you preheat the oven while they are still inside. Since we routinely store these flammable devices in our stove, I thought this would be an obvious check. Maybe I really am stupid?

For the second time in one week, I found myself throwing on the fireman's hat and saving the day. Angie's face was almost as red as the wooden handle on our skillet, but a lot of cold water helped. After dousing the smoldering embers of our former skillet handle, I dumped a big bucket of cold water on my head to serve as a reminder to never, never, never let Angie near anything combustible again.

Same shit, different day...just hotter.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I could have three desserts.
David: When we play 'poopsala'.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David spit up in the living room all over the floor.
David: When I cry 'cause I dream from Dalia.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play this new game, 'omna-om'.
David: When Zack and Owen come again, okay?

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