Tim took the kids geocaching this morning. Thankfully he brought the camera with him. At last night’s outing we had only the pathetic pixels of my phone in which to capture the moment.
So where is Tim in this time of blogging famine?
Typing up a storm?
Writing pithy captions for the intriguing pictures he snapped along the dusty trail?
No, he is NOT!
He’s sacked out on Dough Boy, eyes closed, an empty ice cream bowl dangling from his finger tips. Dough Boy is our couch, not some random prescription drug. Just wanted to clarify. But since I couldn’t resist from plattering about what is a suboxone doctor and how such doctors are useful, in one of my blogs, that could also allude to the fact that I might not be completely clean. But I digress.
So, instead of an interesting blog on the intricacies of geocaching, we’ll have to settle for some pictures of Sarah’s outing.
Sarah and I were invited to pick cherries at a friend’s house this afternoon. Tim, with an eye on the birthdays rapidly approaching, swooped the rest of the children off for a shopping expedition. Joshua and his posse are off at a Counselor’s In Training (C.I.T.) retreat this weekend.
On our way, Sarah and I discussed fruit, both of us admitting that we don’t really care for cherries. “Let’s not tell Mrs. P,” I said to Sarah, “it might hurt her feelings.” Sarah looked puzzled, “What do we do, if she asks us?” she inquired. “How about we say, ‘They’re not my favorite.’” I suggested helpfully. Not wanting to encourage Sarah in duplicity, but hoping to teach some social skills, I had her practice.
“Let me hear you say it.”
Sarah responded haltingly, “They’re not my favorite.”
“Perfect,” I chorused.
Sure enough the first thing Karen said, as we found her down at the end of the garden, was, “Sarah, do you like cherries?”
Sarah is always ready for an adventure.
“It’s my birthday next week,” she said helpfully looking up at Karen sweetly.
Ah good, I thought, misdirection. Nothing like an adorable 6 year old to change the subject.
That’s an awfully big ladder!
“How nice!” Karen responded enthusiastically. “Are you excited to try some of these cherries?” Karen is not easily distracted.
“It’s my mommy’s birthday too,” Sarah informed her, “we share a birthday.”
“Wow! That’s wonderful.”
Sarah did not go unaccompanied up the tall ladder.
At this point, I was pretty sure Karen no longer cared about Sarah’s interest in eating cherries and was ready to direct us in actually picking them. As she handed us a bag and pointed out the low lying branches, laden with cherries, Sarah piped up cheerfully, “Cherries are not my favorite.”
“Really,” Karen said, looking at me.
“Nope, Sarah continued eagerly, “or Mommy’s. We don’t really like them.”
“Well, heh heh,” I stammered, “David and Tim love them, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to spend some time with you in your beautiful garden.” Thankfully those things were true, no misdirection needed.
As it turned out, fresh Rainier cherries are delicious. We both ate handfuls of them, still managing to fill up two bags to take home with us. I went on to eat another small bowlful that evening. A cherry convert.
We even saved some for the boys, barely.