Picnic in the Potty

There's something about the evil combination of returning from a family funeral with a nasty, energy-sucking, chill-inducing head cold that brings out the pushover in me.

PJ's until noon?
Fine with me.

Little oatmeal for breakfast?
Don't fight about flavors, pick the ones with the most sugar, and dump half the packet on the floor.
I'm good with it.

Marathon Backyardigan's session?
I'll bring the blankies.

I was even ready to let Max pull his favorite black glow-in-the-dark spider shirt out of the dirty clothes pile to wear to school for "black" day. Except Mr. Wonderful had the energy and efficiency to wash every item of clothing in our household (and fold it!) while I was gone. No one come over for dinner until December, though, because it will probably take me that long to get it off the dining room table.

I'm not complaining.

I'm not complaining about the little things right now, and when the boys asked for popcorn for dinner last night, I didn't say "no". They looked at eachother, slowly, as if to make sure that they'd really heard me right, and then giggled hysterically.

Partly it was the lethargy and absence of any form of taste bud in me that said "yes" to popcorn, but also part of it was nostalgia. My grandfather ate popcorn every Sunday night, since that was Grandma's one night off from cooking. He'd pop a big bowl, pour enough salt to fill the Utah desert, and go sit in the living room and watch football or 60 Minutes or Hee Haw or whatever.

Popcorn for dinner.

Max, being the crafty little negotiator that he is, suggested that popsicles might be a good dessert.

Sure, I offered, we could make it "p" day for dinner and only eat things that started with the letter "p"!

Then, pizza got thrown in, and I was all ... Yah! Pizza! There's tomatoes and cheese in that...it rounds out our meal perfectly.

And they started jumping and laughing and thinking who is this crazy lady in her pjs at 5 pm who's saying "yes" to everything? We LOVE her! Which is just what I was aiming for.

Let's have pizza and popcorn and popsicles as a picnic!

Laughs, giggles and craziness ensued.

And then, the cold medicine made me a little goofy and I said "Let's have pizza and popcorn and popsicles at a picnic in the POWDER ROOM!"

And they looked at me with cocked heads and Max said "What's a powder room, Mom?" And I should have just shrugged it off, but I told him that's what some people called the bathroom.

Picnic in the potty - who wouldn't love that???

Not me. My laziness only goes so far and there are standards and eating in the bathroom is just a little too "preparing for the hurricane-y" for me, so we sat at the table.

Popcorn for dinner.

I think the old man was on to something...