Bitten

So, I'll tell you this story, but you have to promise not to laugh at how amazingly cheap I am.
You will learn, in the next 10 seconds or so, that I not only feed my kids bologna sandwiches (99c/lb), but I also (apparently and surprisingly, even to me) reuse bologna sandwiches.

Shut up.

S did not finish her sandwich.

She did what she does: she nibbled the "meat" that hangs outside of the bread, bit into the bread a few times (only because she needs to comply to the "try everything" rule) and then walked away.

As she walked away, B asked for another sandwich.

I couldn't help but look opportunity in the eye, as I lifted S's plate from the table.

All sneaky-like, I mayo-ed more bread, placed the (almost-wasted!) piece of bologna under a slice of cheese, and presented the ala-new creation to B.

I began to wash dishes when I heard, in the most mono-tone voice ever uttered from B's mouth, "Not eatin' it."

And I was astonished! (And trying not to laugh, of course.)

"Why!? You wanted another sandwich, didn't you?"

And with no words at all, B lifts the top piece of bread, and then slowly and carefully traces very defined bite marks around the outside circle of the "meat".

After he has finished tracing the perimeter of the bitten circle, he offers one, simple word:

"Bites."

And I die laughing.

And he does not see the humor.



The boy did decide that he really wasn't that hungry after all, and he slipped off his chair to go play.

I spent a few more moments placing the bologna re-sandwich in a baggie (probably a washed, reused one) and storing it in the fridge for later. (I'm kidding. I really did throw it away.)

Thou Shalt Be Named...

We have our first official pet.

Although some might not consider an outdoor garage cat official, this is as close as we will probably ever get.

We needed a name for the handsome, purring, striped ball of fur.

Two people called him Stripey.
One person deemed him Lightning.
But the cat was also called Spook and No-no, depending on which person of the family was calling him.
I, personally, wanted to name him Sher Khan, after the tiger on Jungle Book.

After about a day and a half of sheer confusion, we finally put all of our desired names in a bowl, dumped them out on the floor, and waited for the youngest family member to pick up (and try to eat) one of the scraps of paper with THE name written on it.


The name, probably because the odds were two to six, is freaking Stripey. The most obvious and dull name of the century. But two of our six family members are very pleased, and the cat doesn't seem to care either way, as long as we empty his litter box once in awhile.

I love him. I love cats. I do. My friend has a cat that I probably would have cat-napped by now, if it wasn't for the fact that my hands rash up and I get all sneezy and itchy just from thinking about a cat for long enough. (Hi Roland!)

I'm feeling a little bad; like we should let him into our warm house, but he does have a couch AND a chair in the garage that he can claim as his very own. And I did buy him cat treats today, although K keeps saying not to get attached. "He is just a mouser."

And that he is, as can be evidenced below. Good job, Stripey. We are so disgustingly proud.

Humor

I said, "What do you guys want on your toast?", and Z said, "Poop with Corn", and B said, "Underwear juice!", and they both cracked up. Then, Z said, "I want peanut butter butt cheeks!" and B said, "Booger slime!" and they both cracked up. Then B said, "Big butt cheek toast eaters!"

Then S said, "What if no one had any cheeks!?" and she started laughing like crazy.

And the boys were both real quiet, and they just kept looking at her, like, "We don't get it."

I think she has her dad's humor.

:)