Operation Wiener Relocation
April 9, 2010 by admin
Filed under living with me
Last night we had a good ol’ fashioned wienie roast followed by a couple of hundred marshmallows. We needed to do this because it was thirty two degrees and I refused to turn the heat back on in the house.
We had originally planned to do this over the weekend, but the wind picked up speed and we had our plans blown into the next week. Anyone that has/had children needs to forewarn parents planning to have children that you can’t postpone something fun and then just go on with your life.
Oh, life does go on but it is no where near like it was before, oh no. After twenty four hours my ears were bleeding because I heard the same words over and over and over.
** When can we roast marshmallows? (times five bazillion gajillion)
** How long until we can have hot dogs made outside? (times seven gugatrillion)
No more questions, my adorable little peeps. We will proceed with our original plans when the weather changes.
** I know you said no more questions, so this isn’t a question, because you wouldn’t like that so this is more of a run-on sentence where my voice gets higher and higher and it sounds like a question but it still isn’t a question but there is no wind right now.
When my kids were little they didn’t even know when Christmas was coming because I couldn’t handle the questions. One day, it was just Christmas. The tree went up, stockings were hung. They just marveled at all of it, never knowing that something big was following. It wasn’t until they went to school and everything I carefully orchestrated was ruined by “The System” teaching them about calendars. And time. And reoccurring events. School sucks that way. I totally understand it now when homeschooling parents say that it is a matter of priorities.
Any way, as preparations are underway for our fine cuisine, it is quickly discovered that there may be a problem with the hot dogs.
Back up, my kids are raised with responsibilities. The youngest kids came from rocky beginnings and we were in a series of foster homes before landing safely on our front porch. From early on, my kids get involved in meal planning and preparation. One reason is so that they see there is always food available because sometimes that hadn’t been possible, and another reason is that it makes my life so much easier when I delegate.
Part of their responsibility is to unload the groceries. It further cements the idea that we will always have enough food, no matter what. I wasn’t crazy about this plan right away, but it made a huge difference for the kids.
I can’t always find what I am looking for because they put things where they think they belong, which isn’t always the case. They clear the dinner table, too. Sometimes a funky smell is coming from a cabinet but a brief search will teach you why a half used can of tomato paste needs to go in the refrigerator and not back in the cabinet.
You are now flipping to the current time of last night. The hot dogs were put in the cabinet and not in the refrigerator. At the time the groceries came home from the store on Saturday, the plan was a cook out Saturday night. One of the kids thought the hot dogs would cook faster if they were at room temperature instead of refrigerated (brilliant, I say), which explains why the hot dogs were put in the same cabinet as the buns. Sadly, once the festivities were postponed Operation Wiener Relocation was not initiated.
One more quick trip the to grocery store included a discussion about it being best to put stuff away properly at the original time of purchase and always be prepared for something unexpected occur. The general consensus was to avoid playing hide the wienie at all costs, keep your wienie where it belongs and forget about it until you need it for real.
Now, that we are done with our wienies, let us progress to to our next pressing topic. As the fire went from person to person, the crowd echoed “I Hate White Rabbits” whenever the smoke went in their direction.
I did not grow up with the safety net of White Rabbit, so when the smoke blew in my direction and I moved. Simple, pure, easy. Get up. Move. So, I am marvel at my posse and ponder the following, “will my work here ever be done.”
I don’t know how story of The White Rabbit began, nor do I really need to know. My kids didn’t learn it from me, it was taught by others as a folklore or tradition as a part of their past that they bring with them to our campfire today. Who am I to destroy it all by pointing out that fire doesn’t speak English?
Our lives are so parallel! I hope the weather cooperates because Mr. B picked out ingredients for S’mores!
I learned about hating white rabbits at camp. It does work! You’re the first other person I know who has heard of it too!