For The Man's Birthday...

...I gave him a bomb.  An Semi-Atomic Tantrum Bomb.  It wasn't on purpose, and I'm confessing here that I should've known better.

After dropping Miss Monkey at gymnastics I happily flitted off to procure apples for The Man's birthday pie at the nearest local produce market.  Slightly disappointed with their lack of spices (namely cinnamon) I pushed the mental schedule back another 30 minutes and headed to the grocery closest to our house, thinking of course this would be quick because I'm familiar with this store, eazy-peazy.  But then I can't find my new cheapo mini-wallet, I look up & down & all around, feel all my pockets.  Look again.

When it doesn't appear I immediately start heading back northward to the produce market where I saw it last.  Calling The Man on my way, informing him that he needn't pick up Miss Monkey from TIGAR as I would be in the neighborhood, wallet outcome questionable, etc.  Visions of re-licensing and card canceling phone calls in my head.  Arriving at the little market, it's dark, and no answer of the phone number I keep calling.  I pull back into the parking spot, check the area, peep in the window to the counter where I was last.  After some consideration, sitting in my little truck with Toddleator, I decide I should knock on the back door, there is still a light in what I assume to be the office.  Mr. Heines opens up, we greet each other and I explain I think I've lost my wallet.

Of course, he says, come on in and we'll look for it.

Well, the baby's in the car, I say, as I frisk myself once more...

and pull from my rear right pocket...

my wallet.

Oh! Hey, look at that.  Blush, embarrassed.  I'm sorry to have bothered you!

Back in the car chuckling, realize that we're too hungry, and there's at least 1.5 hours left before the Firstborn is finished with her class.  Use magic phone to look-up closest GoodTimes, head out to get snack of fries...and once there I couldn't resist the Egg-Nog Milkshake!  I mean who could, right?  

At first I figure, well, I'll just sip the shake, and save some for The Man 'cause he loves Egg-Nog.  But I can't stop.  I'm hungrier than I thought, my fries vanish.  Well, no one wants half or a third of a shake so I'll share it with the baby, I know I won't drink the whole thing.  Fast forward, Miss Monkey's class ending, I saved her some fresh cut french fries and she gets about the last third of the milkshake on the way home.

Now, consider, on the way home, her mouth stuffed full of salty potato-ey goodness, sipping on delectable creamy goodness, she manages to talk through the mess to inform me that she definitely still wants to eat dinner.  Okay, I think, cool.  She's probably pretty hungry anyway, right?

At home finally, I throw together what I do have for the previously planned manificent birthday dinner, except the broccoli is nastily bitter, toss it.  Supplement mashed 'tatoes. No soft white bread for the pulled pork ("lost" wallet at the grocery, remember), supplement bed of fresh baby spinach (actually really a great idea and tasty, too).  Add bowls of yummy pumpkin soup and voila, dinner is served, albeit without a celebration pie to finish.

Then She won't eat, she's complaining, and overly tired and overly sugared, and whining.  She ends up eating her spinach leaf salad and then being sent to bed, lightly caterwauling.

I'm so sorry, lover, I will do better next year.  : )