Old McDonald Had a Cardboard Bucket...

Hannah confuses Old McDonald and his farm with Ronald McDonald and his food. Hence, McDonald's is always referred to as Old McDonald's. A common misnomer, I'm sure. And sort of a cute one. At any rate, tonight, she was very excited to find out we were going to Old McDonald's for dinner and that she could have chocolate milk with her meal. The reason we were going to Old McDonald's in the first place was because were going to be out and it would be past dinner time by the time we got home. Hannah in a car around dinner or bed time is not usually a promising combination...

Nonetheless, we arrived without incident and were happily eating our meals while I thought, "This is nice. Hannah is so happy with her chocolate milk and her little toy and the great box it came in. Jacob is in heaven because he has his own little container of ketchup to dip everything into. Ah, what a pleasant family treat."

Then Hannah told Scott she couldn't eat her chicken nuggets because her tummy hurt. Uh oh. Then her face got the I'm-about-to-puke look. Ever a quick-thinking man, Scott grabbed the cardboard happy meal box and instructed Hannah to use it if she was going to be sick. She didn't want to, but after being assured that was what the box was for, readily leaned over and was sick. Then she was sick again. And again.

I watched in part horror, part fascination as the box filled up. And just as I was inwardly giving thanks for the presence of the box, the bottom fell out. I will leave the ensuing details to your imagination. Although Scott did mention a delightful feeling of warmth as the mess soaked into his legs and buttocks. I'm sure our neighbouring tables were thrilled. As was the poor boy on clean-up detail. To be fair, Scott performed most of the clean-up, but still, you should have seen this kid go crazy with his disinfectant spray.

I'm just thankful I chose to sit on the other side of the table. And Jacob? He watched the whole ordeal while stuffing fries and ketchup into his mouth with clocklike regularity. It's like he was at a spectator sport.

Another family outing. Another precious memory.

You Don't Need to Tell Me

I do many things wrong as a mother, but today I thought I was doing something right. I was building my young, impressionable daughter's self-confidence by praising the cozy bed/tent she made for her stuffed animal.

"Oh, that looks cozy!" I said, eager to laud her efforts.

Her response: "I know. You don't need to tell me that. Okay, mom? You don't need to tell me because I already know. So don't say that."

Alrighty then.

Not 30 seconds later, she asked me, "Do you like my bed I made? Doesn't it look cozy? Look at all the blankets."

Biting my tongue, I answered with glee, "Oh, yes. That looks cozy. I wish I could sleep in it."

No wonder I rarely seem to get it right. I didn't realize how often the rules changed.