Out of House & Home
I think that every set of parents, back to the stone ages, has uttered the following phrase:
"These kids are eating us out of house and home."
We're in a real tough position here at Camp Clifford because our hoodlums are really filling their fat freaking faces these days.
The whining started on Saturday night.
"There's nothing to eat around here."
Never mind that we have to hustle and tag-team to figure out something interesting to feed them every night because they expect a hot meal at dinner.
I know, I know...we should be making them dinner, but it sort of frosts your ass when you plan to cook something and they are putting chicken fingers in the microwave an hour before they expect us to serve them.
(I love that phrase: frosts my ass).
"What are you doing?" I asked the middle sized hoodlum as he bumped into me to get his appetizer out of the microwave - as I was starting on his dinner!
"Just having a snack before we eat," he said.
And it doesn't stop at dinner. A half an hour later I hear the freezer opening again. The beeping sound as it is left open too long signifies the start of the ice cream hour.
Ice cream sandwiches, nutty-buddy's, red freezies, blue freezies...push-ups, pop-ups, fudge bars....
What friggen ever!
That goes on until about an hour and a half after Dinner I until we start Dinner II.
Sam's after dinner meal is Chicken Noodle Soup.
Jake is partial to French bread pizza.
Matt likes the serving cups of macaroni and cheese. I bought a box of it once and it sat in the cupboard past expiration. They won't eat anything if it takes them time to prepare it.
Until Saturday night that is.
"There's nothing to eat!"
A half an hour later...at 11 p.m. - breakfast was in full swing.
Jake was eating pancakes.
Sam was eating home fries.
Matt scrambled a few eggs.
"Do you smell the maple syrup?" my beautiful wife asked me.
I didn't care. I was on my way to bed. I had to get up early on Sunday to make the grocery run.
That's when I said it.
"YOUR little bastards are eating us out of house and home," I said.
"They're your bastards too," Kathy answered.
Don't remind me.
"These kids are eating us out of house and home."
We're in a real tough position here at Camp Clifford because our hoodlums are really filling their fat freaking faces these days.
The whining started on Saturday night.
"There's nothing to eat around here."
Never mind that we have to hustle and tag-team to figure out something interesting to feed them every night because they expect a hot meal at dinner.
I know, I know...we should be making them dinner, but it sort of frosts your ass when you plan to cook something and they are putting chicken fingers in the microwave an hour before they expect us to serve them.
(I love that phrase: frosts my ass).
"What are you doing?" I asked the middle sized hoodlum as he bumped into me to get his appetizer out of the microwave - as I was starting on his dinner!
"Just having a snack before we eat," he said.
And it doesn't stop at dinner. A half an hour later I hear the freezer opening again. The beeping sound as it is left open too long signifies the start of the ice cream hour.
Ice cream sandwiches, nutty-buddy's, red freezies, blue freezies...push-ups, pop-ups, fudge bars....
What friggen ever!
That goes on until about an hour and a half after Dinner I until we start Dinner II.
Sam's after dinner meal is Chicken Noodle Soup.
Jake is partial to French bread pizza.
Matt likes the serving cups of macaroni and cheese. I bought a box of it once and it sat in the cupboard past expiration. They won't eat anything if it takes them time to prepare it.
Until Saturday night that is.
"There's nothing to eat!"
A half an hour later...at 11 p.m. - breakfast was in full swing.
Jake was eating pancakes.
Sam was eating home fries.
Matt scrambled a few eggs.
"Do you smell the maple syrup?" my beautiful wife asked me.
I didn't care. I was on my way to bed. I had to get up early on Sunday to make the grocery run.
That's when I said it.
"YOUR little bastards are eating us out of house and home," I said.
"They're your bastards too," Kathy answered.
Don't remind me.
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