If you missed my earlier post about this week’s Featured Bloggers?
I will wait.
I’ll just talk about nothing in particular while you are gone.
Something boring . . . like errands.
We are at the grocery store.
The girls want ice cream.
We have two trick-or-treating pillowcases filled with Halloween candy at home, so no way do we need another treat. No ice cream.
I tell the girls we are not getting ice cream, but they ignore me.
They stand in the frozen food section and discuss the kind of ice cream they would like to buy.
Maj and Kallan are generally able to work together quite cooperatively in a situation like this. They know that if there is to be any chance that I will change my mind and agree to buy ice cream? They are going to have to present a united front of loving sister treat-greed.
So they huddle together and discuss the various ice cream possibilities in hushed voices.
I ignore them. We are not getting ice cream. I move down the aisle and away from them.
Which is how I come to be the woman whose children are running through the grocery store yelling . . . .
“We want beaver tracks! Please? Beaver tracks would be yummy! We want beaver tracks!”
What the fuck, right?
It turns out there is a flavor of ice cream that celebrates the Oregon State Beavers.
Beaver Tracks, it’s called.
I’m sorry, but when I ponder the possible implications of the phrase beaver tracks?
I do not actually envision a scoop of yummy ice cream.
I may never be mature enough to live in the Beaver State.
Because just those words . . . Beaver State . . . and I am giggling.
OK, so I am looking at this ice cream and I am giggling, and the girls want to know why I am giggling. So I try to explain, “OK, well . . . I just don’t think that an ice cream named after the trail a beaver leaves behind sounds very appetizing. Plus? Look at this picture! This is a scary vicious beaver!”
And then I snort and giggle some more as my daughters stare at me blankly.
Kallan is puzzled, but she really wants this ice cream, so she agrees with me, “Yeah . . . they should call it something better. Like Beaver Love. Or Delicious Beaver. And the beaver should look friendly.”
Sometimes? I laugh so hard I am unable to breathe.
My daughters are all annoyed at me, and Maj speaks for the two of them, “It’s not that funny, Mother. It really isn’t. So can we buy this ice cream or not?”
I am trying to catch my breath, and during this pause in the conversation, Kallan has been reading the ingredients.
She turns to Maj, “Wait, Maj! This ice cream is peanut-butter flavored! I hate peanut butter. Let’s go see if there are other Beaver flavors.”
Other beaver flavors?
Oh . . . my . . . god.
I call after them, “We are not getting ice cream! Put it back!”
Kallan yells back, “But what if they have Vanilla Beaver? You like vanilla.”
I call back, “No, babe . . . no vanilla beaver. No beaver flavor. No ice cream. No beavers. No.”
How great is my life?
And if you ignored me at the beginning of this beaver-loving post and did NOT go check out my earlier post about this week’s Featured Bloggers?
You are annoying me.
Go and do that now. Click here.
I’ll be right here.