Bad Apples

I refuse to eat brown apples. Or apples that have the potential to turn brown. Or with any indentations or imperfections of any kind.

AND he didn’t wash it or check for bruises. Dumb ass.

I am a Fruit Snob.

The good news is that this affliction does not seem to be genetic. Mostly. One twin will eat any apple you put before him, and the other needs only a few modifications (flappy skin parts cut off, brown edges removed). There was that weird time when they loved eating a whole apple with no help at all and then all of a sudden wanted cut-up apples with no skin. But, they got over that and are pretty good about either eating a whole apple or a cut-up one covered in skin.
It boggles my mind and very sensitive palate.

What’s even more strange is that they don’t smoother it with peanut butter or pair it with cheese to get through the whole thing. It’s like I’m raising aliens.

You should see how I butcher any strawberries I give them. If they had their way, I’d just wash them and hand them over without even checking for mushy places! Or, dear Lord, making sure it was the right shade of red. Thankfully, I am the master of the fruit and am able to quickly ‘pretty up’ the strawberries before consumption. I’m kind of a fruit beautification bad-ass.

I love you perfect strawberry.

My son Jack loves blueberries in his morning cereal. I have to stop my gag reflex when I watch him eat that mess. I cannot stand the thought of the texture of them, let alone eat them raw. I like my blueberries in a nice, crumble-topped muffin, just as God intended. I have no idea how both boys came to love fresh blackberries either. It was not something they learned from me. Sure, I buy them, but I don’t partake. I just watch and shake my head.

I’ve given up on my boys. This is just one character flaw I can’t fight. So go ahead, give them an orange slice with slimy, stringy things hanging off it. They’ll eat it up.  I’ll just be over here eating my ‘orange’ Fruit Roll-up and drinking a grape soda trying not to watch.

Don’t care if this lime is not perfect. I can’t be uptight all the time.

Bad Apples

I refuse to eat brown apples. Or apples that have the potential to turn brown. Or with any indentations or imperfections of any kind.

AND he didn’t wash it or check for bruises. Dumb ass.

I am a Fruit Snob.

The good news is that this affliction does not seem to be genetic. Mostly. One twin will eat any apple you put before him, and the other needs only a few modifications (flappy skin parts cut off, brown edges removed). There was that weird time when they loved eating a whole apple with no help at all and then all of a sudden wanted cut-up apples with no skin. But, they got over that and are pretty good about either eating a whole apple or a cut-up one covered in skin.
It boggles my mind and very sensitive palate.

What’s even more strange is that they don’t smoother it with peanut butter or pair it with cheese to get through the whole thing. It’s like I’m raising aliens.

You should see how I butcher any strawberries I give them. If they had their way, I’d just wash them and hand them over without even checking for mushy places! Or, dear Lord, making sure it was the right shade of red. Thankfully, I am the master of the fruit and am able to quickly ‘pretty up’ the strawberries before consumption. I’m kind of a fruit beautification bad-ass.

I love you perfect strawberry.

My son Jack loves blueberries in his morning cereal. I have to stop my gag reflex when I watch him eat that mess. I cannot stand the thought of the texture of them, let alone eat them raw. I like my blueberries in a nice, crumble-topped muffin, just as God intended. I have no idea how both boys came to love fresh blackberries either. It was not something they learned from me. Sure, I buy them, but I don’t partake. I just watch and shake my head.

I’ve given up on my boys. This is just one character flaw I can’t fight. So go ahead, give them an orange slice with slimy, stringy things hanging off it. They’ll eat it up.  I’ll just be over here eating my ‘orange’ Fruit Roll-up and drinking a grape soda trying not to watch.

Don’t care if this lime is not perfect. I can’t be uptight all the time.

The Garage of Suffering

Did I ever tell you about the time I locked my kids in the car in the garage in the dark?

Picture it, Sicily….1927….(Golden Girls reference….What’s up 1987?)

No wait, it was Poland.  Last year.  It was Good Friday, and we were running late on our way to school.  Obviously.  When we got there, I rang the bell and waited for the buzzer to unlock the entry gate.  I didn’t see any kids in the window.  It was a fairly pretty day, chilly but sunny, but I did not hear anyone playing in the garden.  The boys looked for rocks as I grew tense.  I rang the bell again.  And again.

The boys said, “Mommy, maybe no one is here.”

“No, they have to be here.  It’s Friday.  You go to school on Fridays.”  And I have things to do, like not be in charge of you for just a little bit.

They weren’t there.

So, I decided to make the best of it because I am a great mom and was not at all sad to spend a pretty day with my sons instead of going to the mall.  I asked the boys if they wanted to go to the beach. They did! Huzzah!

First we had to go home and retrieve the gear.  The boys were still in diapers, and I was still a beach rookie, so I needed to gather a ton of it.  I had a brilliant idea to save time though; I would run upstairs and get the beach stuff and diapers and sunscreen and hats and maybe a blanket and some money oh! and some water.

The boys were keen on my plan and happily stayed in the car while I ran upstairs to complete my mission.  It was going to be just a minute.  And it was.  In ADD time.  So, maybe it was really like 10 minutes.  As I trotted back down the stairs I heard a noise.  Crying?  Weird, no other families with small kids live here.  The boys were fine when I left.

As I went further down the stairs, it became obvious that the sound was indeed crying.  And it was for real.  Someone was very sad and/or scared.  Oh shit!  It’s the boys.

As I got into the garage, the lights came on.  You know, the lights that are on a timer and only come on with motion?  Which the boys would not be making inside the car.  The car that had no lights on inside.  So, two sweet boys awaiting a lovely day at the beach with their benevolent mommy were sitting in the pitch black strapped into their car seats for an unknown amount of Stephanie time.

I cannot overstate the real and utter desperation and sadness on their faces.  They were terrified.  Tears were streaming down their red faces.  I felt worse than I did when I got annoyed that they didn’t have school that day.  That’s pretty bad.  I cried too actually.

Y’all, that lemon ice cream is good. Take-away-the-terror-of-the-dark good.

In the end, ice cream was eaten and broken hearts were mended. The playground at the beach was a land of yes.  Dangerous climbing structures for everyone!

And, no, they will never again agree to wait for me in the car in the garage.

Tune in next time to “Did I Ever Tell You?”, when I tell you about a mix-up at the swimsuit store.