Don’t Look Now
See those?
You know what they are, so don’t even pretend to act stupid. Don’t even pretend you don’t love them. And don’t even pretend you don’t love them after they’ve been in the freezer and gotten oh-so-perfectly-chilled. And don’t even pretend you would’t eat them for breakfast.
That’s right, folks: Thin Mints!
But this actually has nothing to do with Thin Mints and everything to do with (segway!) butter.
Which I am out of. But which I shouldn’t be out of. But which needs some explaining.
Starting with: You’d Think I Was New Here.
Every morning — EVERY. MORNING. — I, the One Dad To Rule Them All, makes breakfast. HOT breakfasts. Nobody’s going to say my babies left the table without warm tummies, and I don’t mean maybe (this is Down Home Todd, by the way). And when you belly up to my board you can expect bacon (maple bacon if I’m feeling magnanimous), pancakes (never pour the batter on a griddle that isn’t hot enough to melt concrete blocks) (and, no, I’m not saying you’re an idiot because you already know that, I’m saying it because lots of idiots people don’t), fruit, orange juice, maybe waffles, often oatmeal, milk for Beta Male, and (don’t ask me why) water for The Princess of Light and Splendor. Always water (sort of gets on my nerves when I’m at the ready with the orange juice, but no need to get uppity).
Now. Alpha Male roles out of bed usually with enough time to grab a shower, bother his little brother, wolf down some of the aforementioned Breakfast of Plenty, and head off to Junior High School (note: I refuse to call it Middle School because I see no reason to call it Middle School. It makes no real sense to me and, this will shock you all, I have this sneaky feeling that some PTO barfly got her fundraisers in a wad somewhere in the last decade or whatever and went all politically correct and changed the name. And if there’s one thing I disdain with every ounce of myself, it’s political correctness. So. Junior High.)
Beta Male will have already been up before Alpha, and definitely before Charlie Girl, if you’re keeping track. He’s up before I am about half the time, but never up before Cute Redhead. Who, by now, is already off doing very high-powered scientific things involving water rights and beakers and lab coats and published papers and other things I pretend to be all atwitter about when she decides it’s high time I got a Ph.D. in whatever it is she does.
While I have breakfast going I am already (you’re totally wondering where this one’s going, aren’t you?) getting the school lunches in the pipeline. I am also very likely dancing and/or singing and/or busting the moves, because in the morning, when I’ve had the coffee and Aretha comes on? I’m black. BLACK. Not African-American—BLACK.
Okay, I’m so white rice is laughing, but I really like Aretha and when she’s tellin’ me I better think (think!), I just can’t not rock the kitchen.
While I make the pancakes.
And the bacon.
And the orange juice.
And the fruit.
And the blt’s for their lunches (got the bacon going, so it only makes sense) (and if you’re not eating a pound of bacon every day, you’re just not trying.)
And the snacks for their lunches
And their lunch drinks
And thei—oops. Flip those pancakes!
*flips pancakes
“ALEX! Yours is ready! And tell Emma she needs to get movi—”
Oops. Butter. He’ll read me the riot act if I don’t get the butter on those panca—
“—where the hell’s the butter?”
*stands in the middle of Ground Zero and
*points to:
“pancakes…oj…bacon (*swoon)…sandwiches for lunch…drinks…aaaAAAAAannnd…”
“…okay, I know I had it here ten seconds ago. And I…wait. Why is the butter wrapper here but there’s no bu—”
“DAMMIT BAILEY!”
The felon, while I had my back turned for TEN SECONDS (it doesn’t even take that long, in case you’re wondering if he’s losing his touch) (he’s not), ATE AN ENTIRE STICK OF BUTTER! And then he skulked off and planted his big fat butt on his big fat bed and waited for me to rain down terror, and consequence and the myriad ways I was about to put the ‘mare’ in nightmare (thanks, Zion).
And I knew right where I’d find him. And so I stomped (you) stomped (are) stomp-stomped (in so) stomp (much) STOMP (TROUBLE YOUNG MA—)
And then I saw that face and decided if I can be blamed for eating six Thin Mints for breakfast (and I did), he can be forgiven for downing the butter.
(And he is).
OH-MY-GOODNESS that mind of yours Legion!! You make BOTH Aretha AND Tom Watson Sr proud. Totaly made my morning, thanks!
*bows
You’re good at this, Todd. You sure are.
Thank you, Frappé. That one pretty much wrote itself right after it happened :)
I could smell the bacon.
Delightfully written. :)
Awesome. Loved it. Mostly because I also eat Thin Mints for breakfast and I have a Golden retriever who eats everything within reach.
Great post!