My mom's in town visiting to see the new kitchen and to hang with the spawnage a bit during their 5 day President's Day Sabbatical from the school that's NEVER IN SESSION. Today was kinda wacky, as I was trying to split my time between working in the basement and running upstairs to spend time with Crabbygrandma and the kids. It was nice, though, 'cuz my mom put the kids to bed tonight and the old lady and I actually ventured out, on a school night no less, to eat some not-horrible East Lansing sushi at a place called "Omi." I haven't cramped up and/or vomited yet, so, in this town, that counts as a big "Thumbs Up!"
Tonight, we were hanging out chatting when my mom reminded me of a classic retro crabbydad moment, P.M.O [pre-Miss O]. Back when we lived in Chicago [pause... weep... continue], my folks used to watch Mr. Z one day a week. We'd meet in Evanston in the morning, hand his puny ass off to the 'rents, and then we'd meet that night and take him back. It was a phenomenal setup.
Well, one night, they dropped him off kinda late and when we got home, the boy, all of two or three years of him, asked for a snack before bed. I gave him a couple of crackers, and then got him all ready for nigh-night. When I asked him what kind of story he wanted me to tell him, he said, weakly, "Tell me a story about food." I paused and then asked, "Um, Mr. Z, did grandma and grampa give you dinner tonight?"
Well, long story short, after DCFS returned him a week later, we all had a grand old laugh. Hoo-boy, good times.