Category Archives: Uncategorized

Resolutions For My Children

Posted on January 6, 2015 by Ice Scream Mama

This year I didn’t make any resolutions. Frankly I didn’t need the pressure, and really I’m working every day on improvement – okay, most days – okay, days where the stars align, the kids do as I say, there’s plenty of ice cream and it’s sunny out. What?! It happens.

I would however like my children to make some changes that would improve my life much more than any resolution I could possibly make for myself. Boys, are you listening? BOYS! Sigh. Well, that brings me to their first resolution…

Listen up! Why do I have to say, “I put your clothes in your room” for you to come up to me not five minutes later and innocently ask, “Where are my clothes?” And how many times do I have to rip devices from hands, snap close books or shut off shows? Just take a second, look my way and say, “Okay mom, got it.” And seriously do I have to ask you to do the recyclables five times? Five! Why?Why?Why?Why?Why? Annoying, isn’t it?

Give me a minute. Okay, seriously, stop counting to 60. I really mean let me finish what I’m doing no matter how long it takes, a minute or a half hour. Like right now, extremely persistent 7 year-old who absolutely must play a game with me right this very second. Kid, please, we just played cards and Mario and I got you a snack and had a serious conversation about how you were going to set up your Legos, but now you need to just give me a minute.

Time for bed. When I’m done for the day, I am truly done. I’m not kidding. I don’t want any more requests for snacks, drinks, one more show or let’s have a heart to heart about which animal is truly your favorite. I want bed. I want it for you. I want it for me. I want it now. So go the fudgecakes to sleep.

Trust yourself. It can be the hardest thing to do, especially with a bunch of peer eyes staring you down, pressuring you into submission. But you’re good and smart and you know what’s right, so listen to yourself. I promise you’ll make plenty of mistakes on your own. There’s no need to make your friend’s mistakes as well. Trust me.

Just Stop. “Mom! He did this! Mom! He did it first! Mom! He’s bothering me!…” Guys, I don’t know how to express, first, how annoying you annoying each other can be for me and second, how the brothers you’re going out of your way to torture are really and truly your best friends in this life. No one will have your back like they will. No one will know you like they will. No one will really be there for you like they will. So give each other a break (not the arm kind), and throw each other a kind word instead of under the bus.

And just to cover my bases, please also resolve to never drink and drive, sky dive, move to another country, marry someone I don’t like or join the circus. And even though I intend to never make resolutions again, I now plan to make a list for you guys every year. It’s my last resolution!

Luckily, you know how well I do with those.

Happiest 2015! xoxo
Ice Scream Mama, Papa and the Sugar Babies.

*Hey, if you have a moment, please give a quick click and check out my first essay up on Mamalode called Surviving the Supermarket. If I were to make any resolution it would be to never take all three of my boys with me to the supermarket ever again.

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged 2015, icescreammama, New Year, new years resolutions, parenting, resolutions for kids, Top 5 resolutions for children. Bookmark the permalink.

Life is Good

Posted on December 11, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

I was going to die.

I glanced over at the bright happy picture of my five and two year old sons and felt certain I would never see their gorgeous faces again. The tears began to well. It was all too much. Gripping the sides of my hospital bed, I took one last look at the children whose lives I was already mourning not being there for, gave one last push and brought my third son into the world.

That was seven years ago.

Seven years gone. Seven years lived. Seven years growing. Seven years of memories and moments. That baby is now a full grown kid; my 2 and 5 year olds now 9 and 12. How did we get from there to here? From diapers and midnight feedings, nursery school and little crawler gym classes to middle school and snark, multi-colored lacrosse shorts and sleepovers. Life is moving faster than one of my kids basketball games; racing from sport to sport to school to play dates – oh sorry boys, hang outs – and activities. We’re so busy trying to keep up that we almost don’t even realize the days, months, years passing.

It’s good being in the thick of it. It’s how it should be. But some days like today I stop and look around and see the wild haired boy with the mischievous smile who is my baby that is a baby no more. I see my older boys having grown as well – My 9 year old charming and wise beyond his years and my 12 year old on the verge of an amazing and frightening new time in his life for both of us. And I remember that day when in my panic I thought I might miss it all.

But here I am (puhpuhpuh), having been blessed to watch my boys growing and growing, their faces, bodies and personalities subtly changing, new expressions lighting up their eyes and mouths; thoughts and ideas opening like flowers in their brains.

One falls over in a pile of giggles, hysterical from his own hijinks, one decides to forgo the fork and shovels in his pasta with his hands and one decides to mastermind a complicated game of mazes, sport and points in the basement.

They are beautiful, unique and special. They are nothing alike and each one is perfect. How incredibly amazing to experience their humor, youth and innocence and see it changing moment by moment in infinitely subtle ways; to watch them grow and develop, rise and fall. Just to be a part of it all; a part of them.

I am overwhelmed by emotion and gratitude. I am so thankful to be here and see it; to hug them and be hugged by them. Today is my youngest son’s birthday, but just like his brothers, I celebrate him every day.

Life is a gift.

Good morning, birthday boy.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops, Uncategorized and tagged appreciation, birth, growing up, parenting, pregnancy. Bookmark the permalink.

Oh crap – I’m a girl!

Posted on December 3, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

The water runs down my face and I breathe deep enjoying the hotness splattering all around me. I have come here to escape, to hide from my family.

It’s working. The water is a tonic for my tired – even though it’s only 5pm – body and my brain which like my closet, needs a good cleaning. They were all just annoying me in the usual ways – get me this, mommy he’s bothering me, why can’t I – but today my tolerance is low. I can’t blame the moon, my hormones or my father; it’s just me being cranky.

Sometimes we all need a timeout, so I took one and it felt sublime… for about five minutes, until my middle son barrels in complaining about his older brother.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I say but he continues on anyway, his small offended voice growing louder as he pleads his case.

“I can’t really hear you,” I say, hurriedly washing the shampoo from my hair. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Wait!” He yells impatiently, “Just listen!”

I can’t really listen. The water is running. And I am naked.

“Please,” I beg, feeling the shower glow dissipate even in steam.

My 12 year old runs in, equally impassioned with my 6 year old merrily following, happy not to be part of the fray. He wasn’t the one who did that to him because he did that first but didn’t mean to do it but did it anyway. Nope he’s just here for the entertainment.

They are screaming at each other and me to fix the problem while my little one does a little dance of glee. Does no one realize that I am in the shower? It’s like I’m invisible but for the first time ever I’m feeling exposed.

All of a sudden my three boys ages 6, 9 and 12 seem too old to be barging in on me. We never made a big deal about nudity, neither going out of our way to show it or cover it. And besides a few random questions at the toddler age like, “Mommy, where’s your pee pee?” or, my youngest who just loves my ‘squishy body’, there have been no averted eyes, prolonged stares or interest what so ever. In fact, no one has really seemed to notice that I’m even a girl.

Oh my God – I’m a girl!

And I’m naked!

“Everyone just get out!” I huff and a chorus of exasperated, ‘MOMs!’ ensue. Finally they march out still arguing.

Sometime in the next year or so, even though my 12 year old is still wonderfully oblivious, he will be demanding and deserving his privacy just as I now deserve mine. It’s time.

Alone I tentatively emerge, grab a towel to wrap round myself.

From now on I need more than just a little escape. I also need to hide.

Freaking knock, please. Thank you.

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Posted in Boys!, Uncategorized and tagged covering up in front of children, naked, nudity, parenting, privacy. Bookmark the permalink.

Lost Pride and Parking Spots

Posted on September 23, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

The parking lot where Michael’s, King Kullen supermarket and Marshall’s converge is a frenzy of discount shopping, food and insufficient parking. You easily need to factor in 15 minutes circling time before you might be lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time when those reverse headlights flare. And you’d better hope you’re not near a revving Lexus who’s in the mood for chicken.

Today I considered myself lucky when it only took four laps of musical cars before I scored a spot at the far end of the lot. Then, having completed my extremely necessary mission to Michael’s for candy eyes for cupcakes, I head back toward my car, placing bets on which lucky lapper will win my coveted spot when I realize there’s a BMW parked illegally behind my car, making it virtually impossible for me to get out.

I’m mentally configuring the odds of a 456 point turn when a blonde woman with giant sunglasses steps from the vehicle. “Um, you know that’s not a spot,” I say but her head is too far up her ass to hear me so she just slings her Gucci bag over her shoulder and slams the door shut.

“Excuse me!” I say louder, “You can’t park there.”

She hears me now but I gather by the way she completely ignores me that she doesn’t want to acknowledge my existence and is about to stomp off in shoes that I would only fall off.

“How bout I back up into your car? I suggest with just a hint of confrontation.

That gets her attention but like the passive aggressive bitch she is, she just smiles and says, “Oh, you’re leaving. Great, I’ll take your spot.”

I don’t want to give her my spot. I want to back my beat up minivan right into her sleek silver driving machine. I want to crush the life out if. I wouldn’t even mind spending the rest of my life driving a car with a crumpled behind. It’s not like I don’t walk around with one of my own.

But that’s not nice manners or legal, so I get into my car, back up and leave. So unceremonious. So unsatisfying. So wimpy. I felt efeminated. I had been schooled by a bitch with a BMW and a good blow out.

I fume the whole way back to town up until I pull into the school to pick up my boys. As I am about to swing into a spot, I see a car opposite me angling to do the same. Ah, redemption! I will own that spot; a little turbo boost to my wounded ego.

But still I hesitate before I hit the gas, and in that second, the car across from me pulls in.

Argh! Foiled again!

Frustrated I drive on and find a spot, really only about 10 feet away, but that’s not the point.

Walking to the school, I see the person emerge from the vehicle who just stole my spot with my pathetic show weakness. Turns out to be my friend. We both brighten. She knows nothing of our parking duel to the death and how she bested me.

“Hey, I got you something,” She says, and knowing my affinity for all things sweet, pulls a pack of jellybeans from her bag.

I take them and smile. The Universe has soothed me. Apparently sometimes patience is rewarded.

But I still hope that chic from Michael’s gets her just desserts.

Smashing this car would definitely be justifiable.

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged driving, humor, parking lots, road rage, women drivers. Bookmark the permalink.

Left the kids for a few days. It only took 12 years.

Posted on September 2, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

“So we’re going to grandma and grandpa’s bungalow…” My 6 year old repeated back to my nodding face. “But you and daddy are going somewhere else?”

He looked at me somewhat uncomprehending. It’s not his fault. This would be the first time we left our three boys to take a couple of days to ourselves. Of course it should have happened years ago but for one clingy reason or another, it just didn’t.

But now that we were, we weren’t just dropping them at their boring old house. We were leaving them at the bungalow colony where they spend their summers, a virtual kid haven when my husband and I were growing up, which of course is now a literal senior haven. Still, there were random kids about, long green lawns, a pool, frogs and salamanders… what else do 12, 9 and 6 year old boys need?

Their mommy, I thought guiltily.

“Yes,” I confirmed enthusiastically to his soft brown eyes and sweet chubby cheeks. “Daddy and I are going to have a little vacation and so are you and your brothers.”

He didn’t look thrilled.

Even at 6, my youngest is still the baby. He isn’t quite ready to do playdates outside of our house. He doesn’t like to go places if I’m not going, even with Daddy and his brothers. He hugs me vigorously when I leave to go to the supermarket or out to dinner. He has made some major progress towards independence this past year – Hello Kindergarten and camp! – but it’s slow going.

“It’ll be fun!” I cheered which only made him scowl at me skeptically.

When we walked into the bungalow to drop their bags and our kids, grandma was ready. “Who wants eggs and pancakes?” She asked excitedly as the boys settled in.

We left them there, among many hugs and with devices that could communicate with us with the touch of their fingers.

My older boys were good, only my youngest sat on the fence, looking at me like I’d left him in a basket with a note pinned to his blanket.

It hurt and I worried. Of course, he would be fine with his grandparents and his brothers, but he was sad, which made me sad.

Still I walked out and he let me go which was a huge step in itself. I was intent on blocking out that little face and having fun with just my husband, if we could even remember how to do that.

It turned out letting go was easier than I thought.

The minute we were off, my brain was off them as well. I was excited for our time away; our two nights and a half day. We hiked, played tennis and row boated. We talked and ate and ate. It was good, really good. Of course we face-timed with the kids and they sent back pictures of themselves catching frogs.

We were all happy and we weren’t together.

We could all be happy and not be together? It was a novel concept.

When we returned to the bungalow, their beautiful faces momentarily lit with pleasure before tumbling over one another to excitedly detail their frog catching adventures. The past days of fabulous coupledom were already long gone and it was good to be back, but now that I had drunk the Kool Aid…

“So how was it?” I asked my youngest.

He shrugged in his shy way, “It was good.”

“You were okay?” I pressed. Now that we were together, somehow I was worried again.

“I was fine.” He said and I believed him, because surprisingly I was fine too.

Turns out, getting away was good for us all.

I’m already planing our next escape.

Happy

Happy

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged being a couple without the kids, parenting, separation anxiety, vacation, vacation for parents, vacation without kids. Bookmark the permalink.

Someone’s going fishing

Posted on August 6, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

It was after 10pm and my husband and I had just gotten the three boys into bed. Summer it seemed had its own schedule which was basically no schedule.

I went into my 9 year-old son’s room to say goodnight but instead of a sleepy hug, he greeted me with a firm directive.

“I’m not going to camp tomorrow.”

It was not unusual for any of my three boys to randomly request a day off but usually it was more of a plea than a demand. I sighed. I wasn’t in the mood for negotiations. I really wanted to be downstairs watching Breaking Bad. My husband and I were in the final 3 episodes.

“Really?” I questioned. I was pretty adept at sidestepping this appeal and sending them on their merry way. They had a limited camp schedule to begin with, and I had no intention of losing a day to myself for no good reason. “Why?”

“It’s the fishing trip. I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” I asked again, searching for more.

“It’s boring.” He answered, but his tone was already exasperated.

“But you’ve never gone on a fishing trip. A lot of your friends love it. You might too.” I thought it was a reasonable argument, but I should know better than to reason with my middle son, especially after a long day.

“I don’t care what anyone else likes!” He yelled, sounding on the verge of tears. Then he flipped over in his bed to face the wall and ordered me out. I had lost him.

But instead of leaving him be as I should, I pressed on, hoping to draw him out.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to go fishing?”

“I just don’t want to!”

Feeling like there must be more to his adamant refusal, I continued casting questions aimlessly about to my exhausted, stubborn child, who I couldn’t even convince earlier on to try a cupcake I baked.

“Are you afraid of the water? Do you not want to touch fish? Or bait? Did something happen at camp today that upset you?”

“I don’t want to go!” He cried.

I stood there in the silent aftermath, staring at his back, considering my next move.

“But if…”

“Just go!” He finally yelled.

Annoyed at his tone but more at his unwillingness to share, I left frustrated.

This was my son who wanted to sing, played recorder, piano and was considering drums. He played soccer, tae kwon do, football, baseball, tennis, gaga and of course baseball. This morning he announced that he was also a runner and wanted to do our town’s annual 5 mile Thanksgiving run with me this year.

I just didn’t understand. He was always up for anything.

Except fishing.

I wanted to delve deeper and get to the bottom of things, but I apparently I couldn’t hook him.

Today just wasn’t my day. Maybe tomorrow.

I could wait.

The only fish that's happening around here.

Home fishing

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged big fish, camp, fishing, fishing for answers, go fish, parenting, the one that got away. Bookmark the permalink.

Doctor Love

Posted on February 17, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

I always favored women doctors, especially for women things. I mean, who’s really going to understand a yeast infection? Or birth? Someone with a penis or a vagina? It’s hard to argue the obvious. But nine years ago, when I moved to my new town four months pregnant, I needed an Ob/Gyn stat, and it seemed the name that fell from everyone’s lips was Dr. David Goodman.

“Dr. Goodman is amazing,” gushed my realtor.

“I love Dr. Goodman.” The woman from the nursery school practically swooned.

I wished David was a Danielle but I decided not to argue a multiple source recommendation and made an appointment.

I expected Dr. Goodman to be kind and experienced. I didn’t expect him to be young and charismatic. A little too charismatic, causing my mother upon meeting him to flutter and remark. “Oh, that Dr. Goodman is quite good-looking.”

She wasn’t wrong. For an Ob/Gyn doctor he wasn’t all that bad, and for a hormone infused pregnant lady, that was pretty good. We chatted easily, and he casually threw flirty compliments my way which made me glow, although I let people think it was the pregnancy.

Of course, I now understood part of Dr. Goodman’s wide appeal, but there were problems. There was no way I could have this man patting down my breasts while talking casually about the weather. And an internal? No sirree, not if I could find another doctor in the practice to see at those times, which I did. Clearly, Dr. Goodman and I were dating. I certainly wasn’t going to give away the goods without a nice bottle of wine, which I couldn’t have for another five months.

So I continued to see him on appointments where we listened to my baby’s heart beat and we chatted about movies and local restaurants I imagined he wanted to take me to. It was all so lovely. I began to look forward to every appointment. Maybe a little too much.

The morning I went into labor, I called him at a little after 5am with contractions fast approaching 5 minutes apart. He was at the gym. Of course.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” He said, totally cool. “Just wait till they’re three minutes, then head to the hospital.”

He called me baby.

I couldn’t breathe. I started to pant. Oh yeah, I was having a contraction, but still, I knew that after the baby was born, I would have to break things off.

It made me sad. He was a good doctor, but it was all getting a little too awkward, for me at least. For him, it was just another one of his babies having a baby.

He wasn’t on call when I delivered, and for my six week check-up I made my appointment with Dr. Jeanine in the practice.

We were over, but I avoided seeing him at the office for fear he’d ask me why I’d left him.

What could I say?

“I like you, but I don’t feel comfortable with your hand between my legs?”

Sneaking out seemed the best option.

Not long after, he left the practice to start his own. I’m sure many women followed.

But not me.

Dr. Jeanine and I are still seeing each other.

‘Oh, you’re not feeling well? Maybe I can help.’

photo cred: xlcountry.com

Yeah Write

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged Calling Doctor Love, doctors, Dr. McDreamy, falling in love with your doctor, Ob/Gyn. Bookmark the permalink.

Your breast way to age

Posted on February 10, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

“Um, what’s this you ordered?”

I heard my husband’s voice lifted in curiosity from the other room and immediately knew what he was asking about.

“Why do your breasts need a pillow?” He asked with brows raised, walking in holding a package looking both baffled and intrigued.

“Wait.” He stopped himself and me before I could answer. “It’s for your mother, right?”

I was about to nod yes, but he didn’t need me to and continued his conversation with himself. “I knew it.” He studied the golden package, turning it over in his hands. The picture showed a woman with a device that looked like a small baby carrier; straps over the shoulders and a small hour glass shaped pillow running down thru the breast area.

“What is it for?” His eyes held the confusion of men everywhere trying desperately to understand women things.

Again, I opened my mouth to explain, but he put an end to the one sided conversation by tossing the package back on the table and rolling his eyes. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

He was right. He didn’t want to know. Only my mother could find a pillow intended to support the breasts during sleep to keep them from pushing up and creating wrinkles in the sensitive décolleté area. If you don’t know what that is, it’s the area of skin under the neck and above the breast, generally exposed to sun and prone to wrinkles and discoloration as we age. Apparently, just having breasts and sleeping promotes these wrinkles as well.

Luckily my mother has the great and powerful Dr. Oz to inform her of all these miracles to help reduce her lines and leave her forever young. Remember when the end all be all of TV host promotion revolved around Oprah sharing her favorite things? Ah, simpler times.

Now Oz promotes everything from HCG injection diets to Oil of Oregano, Green coffee bean extract, Garcinia Cambogia, the Breast Pillow and a million other supplements, ingredients, foods and lifestyle choices. He’s got a hand on your heart, on your waist and even up your pants. He is all over you and all your health and vanity needs.

What beauty wisdom my mom doesn’t receive from Oz is made up from 3am infomercials promising to erase wrinkles in seconds. I try to tell her if maybe she stopped worrying and slept more it would do the same job.

But what do I know. Until recently, I thought decollate was a kind of vintage looking art work, but I then I found out that was decoupage. My bad.

So what was this pillow doing at my house anyway? Turns out, my mother is as notoriously bad at internet shopping as she is good at finding miracle anti-aging products. So, from time to time, she tells me what she wants and I order it for her on-line.

Oz reveals the secrets. I find them on Amazon. My mother basks in her youthful glow.

But if you ask my husband, it should all remain a mystery.

Oh, it exists.

http://yeahwrite.me/challenge-148

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged aging, anti-aging products, breasts, growing old, humor, wrinkles. Bookmark the permalink.

Getting Bent Over Bending Over

Posted on February 5, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

I think the sales rep winced when he saw us out of the corner of his eye. I can’t be sure because by the time we made our way over, he was all smiles and handshakes. I don’t blame him. I mean, how many times can you show the same people the same stuff? I’ll get back to you on that one.

In our defense, we have never redone our kitchen before and the options are endless. We spend nights surfing the websites, comparing prices and reading reviews for brands like GE, Thermador and Viking.

We waffled over a microwave in the island. We flipped back and forth between a range top with a double wall oven verse a nice full range. We looked at 36 inch fridge, but then our eyes widened at the 42inch and completely bugged out of our heads at the 48inch.

We made every decision half a dozen times and then changed our minds at least half a dozen more. Finally we strode into PC Richards feeling confident that we knew exactly what we wanted, and would up buying something entirely different.

Two days later, we returned everything and was back at square crazy.

We hosted pow-wows at our house. Brother-in-laws debated the merits of one brand over another. Uncles drew layouts for cleaner designs. A friend said everyone doing their kitchens now got double ovens built in the wall. Everyone had an opinion and no one was afraid to share.

The wall oven was one of our biggest points of indecision. Aesthetically I favored the straight range. My husband favored an extra oven for the same money. We were at an appliance impasse. We needed some professional help.

“You should probably consider the double wall oven,” said the designer who was working up a layout for us. “You know, because in a few years it’ll be easier for your back.”

What? Oh no she didn’t.

“Uh, did you just try to sell the double oven on the deterioration of my body?

Sounds of shuffling and backtracking. “Um, ha ha. No, I mean. Uh…”

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

“Really? You really went there? Wow.”

Add some awkward stammering. “No. Ha ha. I just meant, in the next decade.”

Okay, 30 year-old designer was pissing me off. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t be able to bend over in my 50’s. You’re probably right.”

“No. I mean, ha ha…”

We both did the fake laugh thing while she pulled her very big foot out of her mouth. She should really wait till she gets the job before insulting me.

“Okay, let’s move on, unless you want to suggest any wheelchair ramps I should be installing?”

More awkward giggles on her part. “Oh of course not, you’re in very good shape.”

Oh yeah, who’s bending over now, sweetheart.

I hung up and had my decision.

I would get the range. It provided extra counter space, a more open layout and subtly commented on my obvious youthful agility.

I planned to be shaking and baking for a long time.

Now, can we talk tiles?

I’m hot for you babe.

http://yeahwrite.me/challenge-147/

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged humor, kitchen appliances, kitchen renovations. Bookmark the permalink.

The house where food goes to die

Posted on January 9, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

“Uh, this says pink grapefruit juice.” My friend said skeptically, holding out a container filled of brown liquid, a clump of growth in the center.

We were at my parents’ vacation home upstate, looking for something edible in the closets that would save us a trip out in the cold. My friend had no way of knowing that the house is used intermittently, and my parents are notoriously bad at remembering to throw anything away. It’s funny because whenever I’m here, I think I clear the old stuff out, only to find more the next time we come. This is the house where food comes to die.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just old. Be careful what you eat here. The last time I was here I grabbed a bag of chips dated 2001.” I didn’t mention the four year-old cream cheese I once found that should have been donated to science.

I pulled a random box of cookies from the cabinet. “Let’s see. Not too bad… They expired in 2010.” I pulled down another box and grimaced. “2009.”

Box by box, we systematically emptied the place. It became a game to see if we could find anything that wasn’t expired. The closest was a jar of peanut butter dated August, 2013. The oldest was a refrigerated jar of jelly dated 2003.

During our rummaging, one of the kids sauntered in. “Oooh cookies!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as an Oreo.

My friend and I immediately grabbed the box. “No!” We both screamed like he was about to touch fire.

Oreo eyes now looked like they had been dunked and might start to drip.

“Sorry!” We both quickly apologized. “They’re bad. They could make you sick.”

He looked at us skeptically. In his eight years, he heard many questionable reasons from adults as to why he couldn’t have a cookie. This was just another to add to the list. He left empty-handed, but full of suspicion.

Just then my husband walked in holding a bag chips, his mouth chewing.

Open at your own risk…

“Hey,” I said slowly. “Where’d ya get those?”

“Up there.” He pointed to the cabinet.

Uh oh.

My friend and I exchanged a look.

“Um, they might be a little old.” I said, grabbing the nearly empty bag.

“Expires, March, 2013.” I read.

He shrugged, unimpressed. “Tasted fine.”

It was the exact same thing he said to me every night when I asked how dinner was. Apparently my superior culinary skills have dumbed down his expectations so that even expired food is agreeable to him. I didn’t know whether to be horrified or thrilled. I think both.

Later, we of course went out for dinner and purchased some fresh snacks for our stay.

I have no doubt that I will see them again for years to come.

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged expired food, food, health, spoiled food. Bookmark the permalink.

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