I Blame the Vultures

I was driving to the grocery store this afternoon, and I saw what I was sure was a large chicken.  Or a very ugly dog.  It was standing on the sidewalk across from the kids’ school.  I was in a hurry to get the groceries, so of course I did the responsible thing.  I pulled over and took a picture.  Because it was a damned vulture (the scientific name).  I will spare you the photo because it was eating a squirrel, and no one wants to see that.  Right?  Although the good people at National Geographic did manage to make an entire television channel that seems to exist for that very purpose.  So maybe there is a market.  It kept looking at me like I was going to fight him for the squirrel.  Geez!  Who does he think I am?  I have standards.  
I would have fought him for nachos.
In all my confusion over seeing the vulture, I forgot to buy ice cream.  The girls (this includes me…I refuse to surrender to being a ma’am) wanted ice cream after dinner tonight (Probably it didn’t help that the ice cream truck had pulled right up to the school lot after school today.  Seems there was more than one vulture on the street today), and we only had a pitiful amount left.  So I announced “Who wants to go out for ice cream?”
Blank stares.
Grace:  Like out in-the-car out?
Molly:  No.  You’re not serious.
Maggie:  Sitting at the kitchen table with a death grip on her empty bowl and spoon, with a look that I imagine to be saying “But I was told there would be ice cream.”
Me:  Yes, out for ice cream.
Grace:  To McDonald’s?
Me:  Or we could go to Dairy Queen?
Molly:  Can we get out of the car?
I made a joke about moving to another country one time, while laughing, and they all started to cry, believing me fully.  But I say we are going for ice cream and that is too wild of a story for them to buy.  I think they thought it was a trap.  Well, that may be psychological scarring, since the last time we all went to DQ was after flu shots 3 years ago.  I guess I can’t blame them for being skeptical.
That Peanut Buster Parfait isn’t mine.  I was holding it for a friend.
While we were eating, I had the lovely view of the toilet down the hall.  
I let you off easy by not putting the vulture picture up.  But if I had to see the toilet, so do you.
Grace’s view was of the McDonald’s across the street.  I’m not sure whose view was worse.  I told her that I used to work at that one.  She immediately said “Wow.  It must be really old.”  Like I had told her that I used to work in the Pyramids or at Stonehenge.
Nerdguy didn’t come because he had a meeting.  On his way out the door, Grace went to interrogate him about where he was going.  I knew he was giving another lady a ride to the meeting because she doesn’t drive.  As soon as Grace got that information, she ran right to me and announced “Daddy is going out with a lady named Diane, and she has brown hair.”  She also mentioned Diane again during ice cream.  Hopefully Nerdguy sees that my spies are everywhere, in this house anyway, and they will tell me everything for ice cream.
The other exciting thing that happened is that Grace lost her third tooth.  Nerdguy pulled it for her because I would rather perform a home-amputation of my own arm, than deal with any one’s teeth. Or feet.  Gross.  Molly had an hysterical hissie-fit because Grace wouldn’t let her pull it.  Grace said that Daddy could do it because he is a professional.  Huh?  Since when is being a computer geek considered a qualification for tooth extraction?  So then Molly starts yelling “Daddy TELL her that I am a professional!” in a not-at-all-professional hiss.
Isn’t she adorable? 
She is much happier now that the tooth is out.  It looks like she has 2 missing in the front because of the gap in her teeth.  She had surgery earlier this year to laser the frenulum, and I swear the gap has gotten bigger.  I’m hoping that her adult teeth will close it in a bit, because she is really getting tired of people thinking it is from a missing tooth.  She may be this close to giving the next person who asks a matching smile. 
Well, the tooth fairy had better get cracking and get those dishes done.  Where’s that magic wand when you need it?

Comments

  1. says

    You did NOT see a vulture eating as squirrel!!! Gross!

    Peanut parfait? Not gross.

    PS: Stumbled on here via Twitter and you’re freaking hilarious. May be in love.

    • says

      I DID! Although I have to say that it’s probably a lot better than seeing a vulture with no roadkill around. That can’t ever be a good sign.

      Thank you so much for stumbling on in here, and for the nice comment. And coincidentally I fall in love with people who say nice things to me.

  2. says

    I feel the same way (about ppl who leave nice comments) so in response to the lovely comment you recently left on my blog…..watch out, I’m crushing on you…which hasn’t been helped at all by the fact that i also refuse to touch feet!!! once my babies’ feet start to take on a non-pudgy/dimpled appearance they are banished from my list of parenting responsibilities. i like you even more now.

    • says

      Thank you Louise…I am SO happy to find someone who feels the same way about feet…I assumed that everyone thought feet were gross until I started mentioning it to many many people, in situations that I am sure were inappropriate (like at my chiropodist appointment), and they acted like *I* was the crazy one! Thanks for commenting! xo (I promise to keep my feet to myself)

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