We made one of our favorite Saturday trips with my mom-in-law over to Jamestown today while Eric had the entire day, 6 AM to close, to himself as a birthday present. He insisted he wanted this in lieu of any money toward hunting equipment, a seemingly selfless request until, oh, about half past eight.
Anyway, we returned with several McD's chicken nuggets that just would not be eaten: "Buhger King's are better, Mama." I agree. They went into the fridge.
The aforementioned friends that are a staple in our home now appeared on cue and Abby and Adam went out to move sand from the sandbox into nooks and crevices around our yard and deck with them. Half an hour later I decided they must be thirsty, so I gathered four sugary drinks with straws and stepped onto the deck, also deviously holding a refrigerated second-rate chicken nugget.
"Juice!" said the friends.
"Goo!" said Adam.
"You're the best Mama!" said Abby, before she noticed the nugget. Then, "Okay, Mama, I'll eat it."
I looked around triumphantly to see if I could use the teachable moment on the other three and was about to launch into a choices and consequences admonishment when I was stopped by the four-year-old friend, asking, "Hey, whewre is my chicken nugget?"
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