From now on you can call me MacGyver

I got a lot of questions about the dress and what exactly I did to it. First of all, let me preface my explanation by saying that I don't sew. I've tried. Honestly. I even have a sewing machine that my mother diligently tried to teach me to use. Let's just say that after a couple hours of "teaching" my mom suggested that I give it up. She's a very patient woman.

So to summarize, I can do buttons but anything else exceeds my skill level.

The first thing I had to do was remove these from the dress:
My daughter has a very athletic build. Translation: she's flat as a pancake. She put this dress on and was parading around the house. My husband was caught by surprise when she came around the corner. His jaw dropped, his eyes bugged out and he grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me into the kitchen to ask, "What in the heck...! Her chest?! That didn't just... happen. Did it?!"

Honestly, that reaction was almost worth the fire drill that the rest of my evening became. Of course, I had to tear the inner seam to remove my daughter's newly found b-cup prowess. I made a clean tear, but the seam was continuing to further unravel without any real encouragement. It clearly needed to be re-sewn, but wait... I don't do that.

So I stapled it closed.

I needed about four staples to repair each cup. Can you see the first one?! It gets better.



Once the boobies got deflated the whole top half of the dress sagged. Suddenly the arm holes were too long, the empire waist was at her regular waist... Clearly the shoulder straps needed to be shortened... At 9:00 PM the night before graduation. Did I mention I can't sew?

Fortunately, this is the world according to me, and in my corner of the world lack of ability doesn't usually hold me back. I improvised. I pinched up the excess fabric and tied it off with a brown, elastic hair-tie. Then I did the only stitch I know, the-sew-a-button-on-a-shirt-stitch, to tack the offending fabric to the shoulder.

And of course the finishing touch was the camisole that she wore underneath. I wanted to cover some of the skin that was showing, but I also needed to protect her from the staples all over her chest.

One of yesterday's commenters inferred that the dress was MacGyver'd together.

She had no idea.

Famous last words

I Will Never...

* Have all four of my children at the same school again

* Understand how I got so lucky as to be the mom of such a sweet and wonderful kid

* Figure out where the time went

* Have kids who are too young for middle school

* Fail to recognize the gifts with which I am blessed

* Comprehend why the Juniors section at Kohl's looks suspiciously like Hooker's R Us. If I wanted my daugther to look like she's working a street corner I'd make an appointment to get her a boob job at the ripe age of 11. I wouldn't sew falsies into her dress. Do you know what I had to do to that dress to make it appropriate for an 11 year old?! Why in the name of all that is beautiful and childlike can we not allow our children to look like (gasp) children? I'll admit that I was shopping in the 11th hour and my options were limited... but seriously?! And just because everyone else is doing it does that mean you should let your kid do it? Are their peer groups parenting the kids or are we?

* Forget the way my heart broke when I realized I couldn't stop her from growing up... When I accepted that she was no longer a child who relied on me for every want and need

* Erase the image of her excited and wondrous expression as she contemplates a future...

that's wide open.

How did you think that would end?

As the year winds down there is the requisite flurry of parties. Yesterday was Emily's end-of-year party, and my job was to run the station where the kids made Jello aquariums. We were working on a 15 minute rotation. It was important to time the work so that the kids finished on schedule, and I was fortunate to find a good balance quickly.

This similar to what we were making --

clear cup filled with blue jello, swedish fish, graham cracker sand, and Cool Whip)

I was on the last group of kids and was enjoying my time with them thoroughly. I was bantering back and forth with one little boy in particular - let's call him PITA (for Pain In The Anterior-region). PITA was having a hard time following the rules and rather than chastising him I was distracting and engaging. I typically have good luck with this approach, but not today.

After a lot of fruitless effort I was getting exasperated with the boy and his 12,000 questions: Can I smush it? Can I stir it? Can I share it? Can I take it home... You get the idea. Finally, I'd had enough.

PITA: Can I eat it? Can I eat it?

KathyB!: Sure!

PITA: Can I mix it all together first?

KathyB! (wondering if he didn't remember that we'd discussed this 3 times already). Yes, PITA. Of course you may eat it. Go ahead! I bet it's yummy!

PITA: Really?! I can eat it? Really...?

KathyB! Honestly, you can do whatever you want....

Do you ever get the feeling the world is moving in slow motion? As soon as those words passed my lips time changed. I remember looking into his eyes as his face lit up. I remember thinking that I'd made a terrible mistake but being unsure of the exact nature of the mistake. I remember the look of pure glee as his face burst into a smile. I remember thinking, "Noooooo..!"

I also remember PITA digging his hand into his Jello aquarium and slinging a handful of goop at his neighbor.

My eyes bugged out a little as I turned to look at the other mommy working the station. She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes....

You opened the door...

How did you think that would end?

I'd like you all to meet Freaker

The other day I was driving the kids to school. Things were proceeding as they normally do: The girls were in the back bickering and nit-picking and generally doing their best to push me to the edge of my sanity before 8 AM, and I was forcing myself to breathe deeply and trying to calculate the odds on whether or not I'd be able to make it through summer break without duct-taping the kids' mouths shut.

Without warning and with nary a car in sight, I slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. When I returned the kids were completely and utterly still. The only audible sound was the chirp of the crickets and the occasional croak of a nearby frog. As I opened the car door I could see from the look on their faces that they were preparing for the mother-of-all-lectures. I really couldn't have planned this better if I tried. I mean, talk about shocking your kids into silence!

When the kids got home that afternoon I asked Hannah what she thought was was happening and she said, "Well, you know how you always tell us if we don't stop with all the fighting you are going to lose your mind? I thought that, well, this time we maybe went too far and you were just, like, going to freak out and run off into the woods or something."

I might have to try that sometime.

So, given Hannah's train of thought I'm sure she was floored when I hopped into the car and set this little guy on the console between the seats:




This poor, sweet, little turtle was literally trying to cross the road, and there was no way he was going to make it to the other side. He was about to become a turtle pancake.

There was no time to usher him safely to the woods as we were already running late for school, so I told the kids I'd find a safe place for him when I got home. The kids passed the turtle around for the rest of the trip and I reveled in the peace.

When we got to the school Emily took the turtle and unceremoniously plopped him into the car's cup holder. She proclaimed it the perfect turtle "car seat" and declared he would be comfy and safe there until I arrived home. The turtle was propped up on the back-end of it's shell, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't happy, so the minute Emily turned away I returned him to his spot on the console and headed for home.

I was about halfway home and singing my heart out to Boston's More Than A Feeling when something heavy fell into my lap. Having completely forgotten about the turtle I curiously glanced into my lap....

And nearly drove into oncoming traffic when I realized that I had a cranky turtle thrashing about on my thighs.

And since we shared such an intimate, life-or-death moment together I felt it only fitting that I give him a name.

I'd like you all to meet Freaker.

I named him as such because if he ever falls into a woman's lap again, I'm sure he'll freak 'er out, too.

And he's off to find another hapless victim.

And for my loyal readers? Those are the remains of Michelle Paul at the top of the picture.

Striiiike TWO!

I love Field Day.

I love the silly games and the camaraderie and the intent, determined faces of the youngest participants, and the celebration of another school year successfully completed.

Or maybe I should say I love the idea of Field Day.

Last year for Field Day my job was to run the Sneaker Relay. The kids took their shoes off, threw them in a bucket and competed on teams in a relay race to see which team could get their shoes back on first. Great idea in concept. In reality it was so hot that local farmers were feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard boiled eggs. The impact on the kids? They were sweaty... and some weren't wearing socks... and a lot of them were boys... and the smell of those feet? Let's just say I started the day with my normal, naturally straight hair and when I went home it was curly.

This year I knew better. When the call went out for volunteers I responded quickly and snatched up an event called, "Duck, Duck Splash." It's basically "Duck, Duck Goose" played with a sponge so that you dribble on each person you "duck" and drench the person you "goose." A water game and the participants keep their shoes on? Brilliant.

I was committed to making this year better. I had sunscreen, a hat, a bottle of water and, most importantly, a game I could have fun with.

Bring it, kids. This time I was ready.

And we got off to a great start. I added some strategic elements to the game to keep it fun for the older kids, like:

* If you get caught by the "ducker" you have to dunk your head in the water bucket, or

* If you don't make an effort to get away from the "ducker" I get to squeeze a sponge full of cold water on your head, or my personal favorite...

* I get to dump the bucket of cold water over all the kids at the end of each round.

I was having fun and the kids were having a blast. I started to relax and enjoy myself. This is what Field Day is supposed to feel like.

One of my kids who received the bucket 'o water to the head!

Don't feel sorry for them... it was hot! They were begging me to soak them.

Until my fifth group of kids. Everything began just as it was supposed to. The kids were excited but under control. It was perfect... until one of the third-graders slipped and fell hard on her chin. I watched as she went down and I knew it would be bad before she gasped her first tentative sob. As I gently pulled her crumpled form from the ground she looked up at me with pain in her eyes and blood in her hands, and I knew there would be stitches.

After her mother had spirited her off to the doctor's, I returned to Duck, Duck, Splash. I know it wasn't my fault but I felt horrible nonetheless. I plastered a smile on my face and tried to ignore the weighty lump in the pit of my stomach. I mentally called on my former enthusiasm, but the crimson flowers of her blood on my shirt continually gnawed at me.

So, Field Day...

STRIKE TWO!!

I'm giving you one more year and then I'm OUT.

A new species, and a brilliant invention

We drove to the beach for Father's Day and had a wonderful day with Dad splashing in the waves. We even got a few scrapes with seashells under our skin to remind us what brilliant body surfers we are... not.


The real news, though, is that we made several discoveries at the beach. First, we discovered a new tool. Look carefully at what my eldest daughter is holding:

Not the bucket, the other thing.

It looks like a hoe, right? Actually it's a sandcastle-whacker. According to Rachel, the person holding the sandcastle-whacker, can take down their sister's hard work with one strategic swipe. Trust me when I say you have to see this in action. It really is brilliant.

I'll be off to the patent office first thing this morning.

Our other discovery was this:

A new sub-species we are tentatively naming homowatermelonanis. It is a strange creature prone to running on the beach and shrieking in a high-pitched voice. She is not an unusual creature but she likes to come out on crowded beach days, so she blends in. She looks very similar to a homoerectus, except for her unique teeth that are particularly well suited to eating watermelon.

After I visit the patent office, I'll be off to the U.S. Department of Zoology to register my new critter.

Between the new patent and the scientific discovery you should expect to see me on the Today show by the end of the week!

Stay tuned...

Are you smarter than a fifth grader?!

I sure like to think I am! I assumed Rachel's fifth grade teacher was, for sure, but today for the first time I had to wonder. Wait. Did I just insult Rachel's teacher?

Let me explain. In North Carolina students are required to take an End of Grade (EOG) test in order to be promoted to the next grade. A minimum score of 3 (out of a possible 4) on the test is required for promotion. The school tries not to make the whole test thing stressful, but there's a lot at stake and everyone knows it. In a genuine effort to get the kids excited for the test and challenge them to do their best, the teacher made a bet with the kids: If they all passed all of the tests he would dye his (dark brown!) hair blond.

The testing week came and went and lo and behold, every single kid passed.

I volunteered to come into the classroom and help him with his dye job. After all, I've been covering my gray hair since I was 23! I am like the queen of hair color.

What could go wrong?

Turns out a couple things could, hypothetically, go wrong...

Time management was the first problem. It takes a lot longer to turn yourself into a blond than it does to cover gray. I figured it would need to sit for 45 minutes... After 70 minutes we still had a very brassy-blond-look working. As a result, I needed to take the kids to technology and then take them to recess. I got them to technology without incident. Getting them to recess is where the problems started.

When I arrived at technology the kids were expecting their newly blond teacher, and it nearly started a riot when they got me instead. I settled the situation and we were half-way outside when one of the kids asked for a soccer ball. When I said I didn't have one with me, he quickly offered to run upstairs to the classroom and get one. HA! I did not just fall off the turnip truck, kids. Sensing a ploy to get upstairs and check on the teacher I sent them outside and went to fetch the ball myself.

You have to get up pretty early in the morning to outfox KathyB!

I hustled up to the classroom and asked the teacher for a ball. I was vindicated when he told me there were no balls in the classroom. I grinned in victory knowing that I had thwarted their sneaky plan. Except when I got back down to the playground I discovered that the child who had asked for the ball had subsequently taken another student's shoe (the acquisition of said shoe is a different story completely) and thrown it up onto the roof.

Seriously. Who does this stuff?!

The other adult on the playground told him to go and find his teacher. Ack. Iwould not have seen that one coming from a mile. I intercepted him again before he could get into the building and told him to have a seat outside. I watched to make sure he listened this time.

I wasn't congratulating myself on outsmarting the kids any longer. Someone definitely was bamboozled here. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the kids. Fortunately, the teacher arrived on the scene and saved me from further bad decision making. What did he do after arriving on the scene? He proceeded to play soccer with the kids. In 97 degree heat.

*******

While we were sitting in the classroom (and I was saying silent prayers that his hair would pass the pumpkin-orange stage) I asked him why he would make such a rash bet with the kids. Why didn't he just offer to buy donuts? He told me he didn't really think about it... He wanted to get the kids pumped up. He wanted them motivated to realize their full potential.

But is this teacher smarter than a fifth grader? I mean, he did dye his hair blond...

In two hours those monkeys had me running all over the school thinking I was in control. He, on the other hand, successfully led a class full of kids to success , maintained control (clearly that's harder than it looks) and had a blast with the kids along the way. Is he smarter than a fifth grader?

In my book he's brilliant.

And to the teachers who may read this post? Thank you.

For everything.

Pay it forward

I've never done this before, but...

This family has been dealt a crap hand. There are enough stories in the blogosphere detailing the rough lots that some families are dealt. This family is struggling through cancer, and chemo, and pensions, and the requisite financial chaos that inevitably results...

I believe in the concept of "paying it forward" with all of my heart. I can reflect on my life and clearly see the times when people who didn't know me well made a small effort that invariably changed the course of my life. I will be forever thankful to them.

I will take the opportunity to do the same for others whenever it is presented to me.

You probably don't know this family. Their struggles transcend personal friendship and speak on a more intimate level. If you can make a small contribution via the Paypal button on the left to ease their struggle please do and, if not, please hold them close in your prayers...

Story webs

I was in the classroom again today, and his time I was helping the kids with Story Webs. A Story Web is like the first grade equivalent of an outline. The circle in the center is the main idea and the lines that radiate out from the center are supporting ideas. My job was to work with the kids on their webs and make sure that their supporting ideas made sense, ask probing questions if they were stuck, and check for spelling and grammar if all else was in order.

I worked with a little girl who was writing a report on the octopus. She had listed five facts about the octopus:

1) Hides to stay safe
2) Spits black ink if he gets scared
3) Has three hearts
4) Lives in saltwater
5) The fifth fact?

I included the Story Web for you...

Sorry about the wrinkled paper... I had to, ahem, recycle it...

Any guesses??

Drum roll ....

5) He has eight legs called testicles

Tee hee hee!

Can I get a rim shot, please?!

My maturity is really one of the highlights of my personality. I'm sure my mom is thrilled...

It's time for Chick Chat!

Yes, it's that time again!

It's time for Chick Chat and the Three Bay B Chicks asked me, once again, to play along. The topic this chat is multiples, and I was beyond excited to participate....

I had so many ideas for the video....

And then something went wrong.

With my face...

My upper lip looks as though I might be the wife of Donald Duck.

And my head?

Picture a regular KathyB! body with a hot air balloon head on top.


I don't normally consider myself to be horribly vain,

but there's no way I was going to videotape myself in this state!!

The good news is that there are four other healthy participants and I highly encourage you to head over to their blogs and take a peek into the life of a Mother of Multiples. These are some seriously talented women and they are funny to boot... Add an endless source of hilarious material and I promise you won't be disappointed!

I'm Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor

Buried with Children

Follow Our Journey - Triplets and Beyond

And of course, you'd be a fool to miss the Three Bay B Chicks!!

I know you guys are busy and it takes time to follow links and watch videos, but check these out! I don't ask for much. And I turned comments off for this post.

Now shoo!

Get going...

The shoe is on the other foot

I spent this weekend in Florida helping my sister prepare for the imminent arrival of her first child, and fighting to keep my infected lip from falling off my face. My lip was disgusting the entire weekend, but that's a topic for a different post...

Julie is my only sister and this is her first child. For the last 12 years, I've been the one making babies and doing "kid" things, and all those years Julie traveled to be with us and share enthusiastically in our milestones.

In talking with her lately I'd gotten the impression that she could use a little help pulling all the little details together and I offered to come down. I left my hubby with the kids (or the kids with my hubby -- I like how that's kind of ambiguous -- who was really in charge this weekend?!) and spent a surreal three days helping prepare for every minute aspect of the birth of this child. I've never prepared in such detail for a child who wasn't my own.

In my head I still see myself as a potential new mom. Yes, I have four kids. No, I really don't want another child... but that's not the point. In my heart it could still be me, even if I know in my head it's not true. This makes me a little sad. And no meanies, it's not because the spotlight has been taken off of me and the party is for someone else. I might be a tad self-centered sometimes, but I'm not that bad... it's because seeing my baby sister embark upon this chapter of her life serves to underscore something I have known for awhile, but have struggled not to acknowledge: this chapter of my life is closed. And some of the best years of my life were part of this magical chapter. And I sometimes wonder if life keeps getting better? Or if I already sipped from the cup of perfection.

I know change is good, but more and more I wish time could stand still.

So while I celebrate the beginning of this magical chapter for my sister...

I secretly mourn the closing of my own chapter.

Just a little.

How to entertain your kids on the airplane and embarass yourself in one easy step

This post can stand alone, but there is history behind the peeing baby. If you want to fully appreciate the history you need to read the Smithsonian posts here and here.

Returning from our recent trip to California I had to fly home with the four girls by myself. It shouldn't have been a big deal as the girls are self-sufficient these days... Except we forgot to Redbox (if you don't do this you should really check it out!) some new movies for the DVD players... And the batteries for the DVD players couldn't seem to hold a charge... I sighed to myself as I mentally transitioned from 7 hours of leisurely reading and napping as the girls slipped into a movie-induced coma... to playing 9,465,782 games of hangman.


In a fit of hangman desperation I whipped out the ubiquitous Sky Mall magazine. My kids love animals so sent them on a scavenger hunt through the magazine. They were to make a list of all the different animals they could find and whoever found the most would win a prize. The kids flipped furiously through the magazine eagerly making their lists. My kids are a little bit competitive with one another. The prospect of a prize on top of that? I figured I could get at least half an hour out of this.


I spent the next 20 minutes alternating between working on my to-do list and trying to figure out what in the heckity-heck I was going to award the winner as a "prize." I had nothin'. I was so caught up in my musings that at first I didn't even notice my 7 year-olds laughing. And then I heard it:

"naked baby... giggle, giggle... peeing... giggle, snort... whisper, whisper.... pickle... little pickle!"

As a sick feeling of deja vu flooded over me I peeked over to see what they'd found and had to choke back a groan of dismay. The giggling was getting louder. The grandmotherly woman in front of us who was so taken by my children and their impeccable manners (her words, not mine) at the beginning of the flight turned around in her seat to see what it was that had my twins doubled-over with laughter.


My spidey-senses kicked in as I realized what was about to happen, and I hastily tried to snatch the Sky Mall magazines away from the girls. I wasn't quick enough. I only got Emily's. The elderly woman was half out of her seat and fully turned around and facing us as she smiled benevolently at my girls. Before I could fully gather my wits she asked, "What's so funny you little imps?"


Abby and Emily, being identical twins, occasionally do this stereotypical tag-team thing where they talk fast and finish each other's thoughts in rapid-fire succession. It happens fast and there is literally no break in the conversation. This time it went something like this:



Abby: (holds up Sky Mall magazine page 80 to display the nearly four foot fountain of a peeing naked baby. Just like we saw at the Smithsonian)

Emily: It's a naked baby...

Abby: It's a peeing naked baby...

Emily: He's peeing in the pool!

Abby: He's peeing with his little pickle!

Emily: Little pickle, little pickle!!!

Both: giggle, snort, giggle (they're pretty slap-happy at this point)


I finally snapped out of it and silenced them, but I was a little late. My spidey-senses are getting seriously rusty. I thought spidey-senses are supposed to be ageless... The grandmotherly woman with the benevolent smile had magically transformed into an icily judgemental old biddy. As she turned away and took her seat her expression made it clear what she thought of the girls. I made eye contact with a businessman seated diagonally a row ahead of us. He winked conspiratorially and I smiled weakly in return.


And then, just as I took a few literal and figurative deep breaths and wrapped myself in my rapidly fraying dignity, a very, very bad smell, like a malfunctioning port-a-potty smell, made it's presence undeniably known on the plane. One of my other daughters (ahem, Rachel)... who was wearing headphones.... and listening to music... loud music... addressed her sister, with whom she was sitting in a row across the aisle from the twins and myself, in a booming voice and said,


"Oh, man! Hannah was that you?! Do you have gas?! That smells bad. BAD! Jeez Hannah, are you sick?!" And she would have gone on. In a very. loud. voice...


Did I mention she was LOUD? I was trying to get her attention and tell her to pipe down, but she was in a different row and oblivious to me... Apparently we need to work on voice moderation while listening to our iPods. I'm fairly certain the entire back half of the plane heard the full play-by-play of both the pickle scene as well as the stink scene.... The businessman who had been winking at me conspiratorially less than a minute ago? He shot a little of the Diet Coke he was sipping out his nose. Seriously. I really hope he didn't dirty his tie.

Oddly, the next five hours proceeded without incident.

And yet I never quite relaxed again...

NOTE: Hannah has not read this yet, but I am certain she would want you to know that she was not the source of the "odor" on the plane. We were seated near the lavatory, though. I'll leave it at that.

Silence

The other day my daughter and I were sitting silently on the porch quietly enjoying each other's company. We weren't talking, we were just being and it was nice. I could sense the weight of my daughter's gaze on my face. Her gaze was more reflective than questioning, though, and I was reluctant to break our easy, silent togetherness. I let her gaze linger until I felt a shift in the quiet.

I turned to fully meet her gaze and found her intently studying my face as if she were drinking in the details. I waited until her inquisitive eyes met my own and she finally spoke. "Mom," she said, "Are you happy?" In that brief instant my mind washed over kids and marriage and opportunities and life and without even needing to reflect I said, "Yes."

I waited as I could sense there was more. The silence stretched between us and I knew she was gathering her thoughts. Finally she spoke again and said, "I thought so. I can tell because of all the tiny lines on your face. The lines are like the shadow of the creases your face gets when you smile, and you look so pretty when you smile."

She paused again and then said, "I hope I look exactly like you when I grow up."

I hope she is fulfilled enough to answer that same question without pause.

I hope she'll look exactly like me.

You're the boss, applesauce!

Young children and babies have ruled my world for a long time.


No one bothered to warn me, but when I brought my beautiful bundle of joy home from the hospital I essentially relinquished control of my life. That sweet-smelling, cuddly bundle of joy? She was really a benevolent dictator who influenced every facet of my life with her feeding and diapering and napping schedules. It was difficult to get used to in the beginning, but I ultimately succumbed to the promise of unconditional love. I quit trying to resist and eventually started playing by the new rules.

At some point a shift occurred, and it was a subtle shift. So subtle, in fact, that I didn't even notice until one day I realized my little dictator had become rather demanding... greedy... bossy even. In fact, this revelation came while we were on vacation last week. I was chatting with my friend and describing events that had not gone my way and how surprised I was at the turn of events. As if on cue one of my daughters adopted a sassy stance complete with hand on hip, and said:

"Snap out of it, Mom!"

Her tone of voice was condescending, and the entire comment completely unacceptable. Obviously I dealt with the sass, but it was then that the winds of change began blowing. The world according to me is on the verge of a coup. This little dictator no longer has cause to be in power and is, in fact, beginning to abuse said power. There must be a parental uprising and I expect power will be returned to the rightful leaders efficiently.

But please... alert the UN if you don't hear from us soon.

You may need to dispatch a peacekeeping envoy.

What's the best thing about vacation?

We got home from our California vacation late last night. This morning as the kids and I sat around the breakfast table reminiscing about our adventures I asked them to name their favorite part of the trip. They did not choose:

A) Fabulous sunsets on the beach
B) Catching buckets full of sand crabs
C) Hanging out for an entire week with our very best friends in the world
or
D) Campfires on the beach and making s'mores

Instead they chose this:
Why on earth would this be the highlight of their trip you might be wondering. Look closely. Can you see it? In the bowls...

This was our last morning in Seascape. The kids were hungry for breakfast and there was clearly no way ice cream would make the trip back to the Bay Area. So we did what any good parents would do and fed our kids giant bowls of ice cream for breakfast... With a side of fruit and a glass of orange juice, of course!

The kids were in heaven.

My only regret? I'm just sorry we didn't think of this

without being prompted by end-of-vacation-fridge-cleaning.