I felt in today that we have finally found our old schedule, the Terror and me. Over the break, naps had shifted later in the day, which meant bedtimes had shifted, and consequently morning wake up times had shifted. But today, nothing wandered in the way of recognizing those hungry and sleepy cues, so I’m happily stepping one foot in front of the other on our path to recovery.

But in my delight was a little confusion as to when exactly basketball practices begin for the Goldfish, and I thought that was going to be tonight.

Not so much.

Yay me for re-reading my email before heading on over to the gym. Instead, we headed on over to a burger joint. Yep. This was a major special event in their lives, as we rarely ever go to them, but go we did. And we chose the best spot as wisely as possible; one that placates me in my constant neurotic dissection of “what are we eating? Is this food or something resembling food?” (They nearly won me over with organic milk and 100% natural, never frozen beef. I said nearly, mind you. Gosh, I’m such a food snob.)

Oh wouldn’t you know it, but we were taken over by monkeys. This one tried to steal our frozen custard – the second major special thing of the evening.


My own personal Rocky Balboa saved the day, though. Quicker than quick, he divided that one cup of frozen custard into three individual cups.


Treat ourselves, we did. Licked our cups clean of that “chocolatey chocolate chip” smooth and velvety tastiness. I’m not sure what ingredient ice cream has in it that can transform your entire being into a silly, giddy, full of vim and vigor piece of happiness, but I’m going with it. Especially since I walked out of that place with two happy happy happy little chatterboxes, fighting over an iPod and a monkey.

By the way, fits of giggles around here over the Terror’s pronunciation of ketchup. It sounds suspiciously like, “dog poop.”

And another by the way, I’m almost convinced he’s a Brit. He calls that iPod an “eee-powd”. If he looks at a Prius and calls it a “Pry-us”, I’m calling in Tony Blair.

On second thought, I think that might rather be the dog’s bollocks. And so long now, I’m off for a kip!