Are You Smarter Than a Toddler?

In case there is any question about who is smarter, me or Todd. . .

This morning, Todd got up and we dressed the children for church with their grandparents and Todd took one for the team by going with them. (We have decided, after multiple reports from Senor Tattletale about his grandparents not bothering to strap him completely into his carseat, that the grands will no longer be taking the kids in the car without one of us going along.)

I could have been stuck going with them, but I am smart, and I did not put one item of clothing in my suitcase that could possibly be viewed as remotely appropriate for even the most casual Alabama Baptist Church service. Todd? He is a dumbass and he brought khakis. He will fit right in with all the little Auburn Tiger college kids at church, with their flippy hair, and their flippy belts. Me? Hooded sweatshirt. Multiple faded tees. Ratty boots and rattier Chucks. One pair of jeans.

[Evil, evil bwahahahahaha-sounding laugh.]

I've spent the morning lingering over coffee, checking email, and listening to KEXP. Then I heated up leftovers (baby quiches! chicken wings! hashbrownmutherfuckincasserole!) and popped open a coke and watched The Big Lebowski. The only thing that would make this Sunday morning better is if my in-laws had a well-stocked liquor cabinet. Okay, I'd settle for a slightly-stocked liquor cabinet.

Todd's a gamer, though, so I fully expect him to realize he has been outsmarted and come back in here with some kind of "but Baby, I took the kids to church, so when we get home, I'm going to the Flatiron" scam.

Doodlebug ain't havin' it.

I Know

I should not look a gift horse in the mouth, or be ungrateful, but when you leave the vacuum cleaner, broom and dustpan, windex, paper towels, and furniture polish all over the house, it is pretty obvious what you think of my housekeeping skills. That is okay - I will overlook the insult as long as you keep my kids. Even if you did stock my pantry with vanilla wafers, double stuff Oreos, two kinds of jelly with sugar (even though we had two sugar-free versions already), a tin of Hershey's kisses, Rice Krispies, and two new containers of pourable sugar (as opposed to the cheap bagged type I use). I mean, if I wanted my kids to eat that crap, it would probably be in the pantry already, but whatever. More with which Mama can sabotage her diet after 8 pm.

Seriously: I cringe at the thought of what has entered my children's mouths throughout the various times they have been taken care of by their grandparents. I know it will not kill them, and the free time is worth a cavity or two, but the worst part? I cannot physically bring myself to throw out those Oreos. A full bag? I cannot do it. They will sit there and slowly ruin my weight loss until Todd comes home on Saturday, when they will succumb to one of two scenarios: 1)Todd shows extreme willpower and kicks them to the curb. 2) Todd goes out for drinks with the boys, and then comes home, skulks around the kitchen as the rest of us sleep, then eats Oreos in one sitting with a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

I know this is our weakness, and not theirs. Why does it have to be so hard?