This morning I made breakfast and finished before Sophia, of course. I don’t eat the parts I like best and then use the rest to paint the table, but that’s just me. *glare at the toddler* I let her have her fun at the table, but in order to do that I have to leave the room, so I started on the dishes.
Sophia slid down her chair as soon as she realized I was putting the dishwasher dishes away. I didn’t even realize it until I turned around and saw her holding up a dinner plate by the top of the rim with both hands. Thank you honey, you’re such a big help. If I had to bend over that extra five inches to actually reach the plate I’m sure I’d break in half.
She gave me each and every dish until the bottom of the dishwasher was empty. She then ran back to the table to finish her breakfast, minus the icky apricots of course. Everyone knows apricots aren’t for eating. They’re for painting tables orange with gooey slime.
Sophia and I ran several errands including going to have my last name changed at yet another place. I completed my tedious list of tasks, which put Sophia to sleep in the car, and ventured to new experience. After several missed streets due to missing signs because of road construction and subsequent u-turns, I finally made it to a U-pick blueberry farm at noon.
Sophia loved it and I knew she would as putting little things into cups, buckets, bags, and boxes has been her long time favorite pass time. She took to it like a fish to water, though she was a bit over zealous. She didn’t just pick the blueberries she also picked the green-blueberries. *sigh* I guess that’s the price of cheap labor.
Here is Sophia on her union mandated milk-break:
We didn’t stay at the berry farm very long, but we did collect 3.5 pounds of blueberries of the blue variety. Since I didn’t get to the farm at my anticipated time I also didn’t get to make my anticipated dinner, so at dinner time it was off to Boston Market we went.
We went there specifically because Kurt wanted pizza and I didn’t. After some thought to the selection Kurt called a waitress over. He asked her the sizes of the pizzas. As she rattled off the diameter of each size, Kurt used his hands to give an approximate visual. The waitress left our table and Kurt continued with his decision. Then I hear him mumble, “four squared times three point one four.” OHMYGOD, seriously? I gave a concerned look, “are you trying to figure out the area of each pizza?” He smiled and I rolled my eyes. I can’t believe it.
As if knowing the area of the pizza helps in figuring out the amount that fits in his stomach. If he knew the volume his stomach could hold, and how low it was currently running, along with how thick the pizzas run at Boston Market he could be onto something. But area, useless. I mean I could eat two square feet of soup if it were spread out thin enough. Oh crap! He’s infected me. Shit.
On the way home, Sophia began to whine. Her forty-minute car nap on the way to the blueberry farm wasn’t quite enough to last her the day. She had dark circles around her eyes. Kurt casually said to her, “If you don’t stop I’ll run us into a tree.” All fussing discontinued. Who knew idol death threats work on toddlers?
I couldn’t help it… I laughed out loud when I got to the mumbling “…times three point oh four…” I can’t believe you let him contaminate you with Engineeritis!
smarmoofus – After ten years it was bound to happen.
At least you don’t have to put up with him calling down to his stomach to rearrange food into different rooms so that he has room for one more helping like I did. Can you say “anal retentive”?
Claudia – Not yet I don’t. Well see what she’s like later. She does have his genes.
Hahaha…to both the piece and these comments! I love how Sophia helped you. Chloe cleans up her food by sneaking it to the dog. You would think the dog would love her more.