The day before Jay’s birthday, the boys and I made him a pan of his favorite chocolate brownies. He’s not a big cake person, but prefers brownies. This year it was a full team effort. WC measured all the ingredients (great for a math lesson that doesn’t feel like a math). CJ poured the measured ingredients into a bowl and they both took turns stirring.
We made dinner of some of Jay’s favorites- hamburger sliders and tater tots. His birthday this year coincided with the super bowl, so birthday dinner was appropriately matched to “game food.”
After dinner we sat around stuffed when the boys began to ask about the brownies. At that point the very thought of food made me nauseous. But my bottomless pit little guys have no problems being too full for dessert.
WC is nagging the daylights out of me. “When can we cut the brownies?”
I don’t know why I replied the way I did, but I heard myself say. “When someone cuts the cheese, that’s when.”
As if on cue, WC lets a long, loud, window rattling, earth shattering kaboom from his derriere.
It was one of those moments in which, as a parent, you don’t wanna laugh…but you have no choice.
WC happily jumps up from the table and heads across the room toward the pan of brownies.
“Boy, the cheese sure does stink when you cut it.” WC says as serious as can be.
This is what you do to paralyze your parents into being unable to stop you from getting into the dessert. We’re crying laughing, gasping for air trying to stop him and his little lackey from getting the knife out of the drawer and helping themselves. “No.” I manage to squeak out.
“What,” WC asks. “You said we could have the brownies when someone cut the cheese.”
You got me there, kid. You got me there.