A story you probably don't want to read

Raphael's Trials at McDonald's

I had a fabulous blog all mapped out in my head. Well, it was long, anyhow. But then my BROTHER (who is visiting from Phoenix) got on MY computer to send sappy email to his girlfriend, which cut into my blogging time. So now instead of a fabulous (or at least long) blog, you get to hear about Raphael at McDonald’s today.
The boys and I met my friend Amy and her kids at the Great Playland of Doom for lunch. After a few perfunctory bites at his cheeseburger, Raphael tore off into the bowels of the climbing apparatus. Tre and Max followed shortly after, along with Amy’s kids, William and Carolyn. Amy and I sat at the table, picking at the leftover fries and chatting.
Soon a heart-rending cry pierced the din of the room. The adults who were within earshot jumped and turned to see what poor child was having his ears twisted off like that. I, on the other hand, recognized the scream of protest. It was my Raphi. I walked over to the play area and caught him at the bottom of the slide. He wrapped his arms around me and wailed into my shirt.
“What happened?” I asked, pat-pat-patting his back.
“Dose KIDS!” he moaned, “Dey did just HIT MY NOSE!” He pointed an outraged finger at his rubber nubbin of a nose, just to make his meaning clear. Had this been my first child, my reaction at this point would have been outrage.
“Some one HIT my BABY?” I would have said, “Where is this PHILISTINE? That child had best hope he brought his Little Tykes canister of MACE, because MAMA BEAR IS COMING!”
But no, this is not my firstborn. This is my angel Raphael, and Mama Bear knows better by now.
“Well, what did you do to the kids, Honey?”
He drew a shuddery breath and cried, “Ah JUST hit dem in dere nose!”
“You hit them first?”
Of course.
“Well, you can’t go around hitting kids. When you hit kids they might hit you back.”
He glared at me, then started squirming to get down.
“Where are you going?”
He gave me an exasperated sigh,
“Ah just goin’ to kick dose kids!”
“No, you can’t kick them either. You should go tell them you’re sorry you hit them.”
He was struggling to get down, pushing at my arms and twisting vigorously.
He glared at me. I looked at the ceiling, trying not to laugh. Finally, he relented.
“Ok. Ah say sowwy.”
I let him down and he trotted off. Amy and I returned to chatting, but a few minutes later, Raphael was back. Crying again.
“What happened, Raphi?”
“Dose KIDS!” he sobbed.
“Did you say sorry?”
“Yes! Dey won’t tell me ‘yes ma’am’!”
Will the injustice never end?



Ok, you had me in tears with this post. Partly because I was giggling, and partly because I'm so relieved that your son does the same things my son does. Phew, they aren't going to grow up to be ax murderers!


I, the recovering germ-o-phobe, spent my last time at one of those play place things when I noted that almost every kid was barefoot (eeew) AND I saw an employee using the same rag to wipe down the garbage cans AND the tables! I remain a Chuck E. Cheese virgin, too, and hope to preserve that particular cherry for as long as possible (if not forever, she said, hopefully).


OH!! Can I just say I ADORE the new photo!! Great choice, great composition, and adorable kiddos(if tiny, i.e., in the photo) little men!!!


OH!! Can I just say I ADORE the new photo!! Great choice, great composition, and adorable (if tiny, i.e., in the photo) little men!!!


Oh my goodness...TOO FUNNY!

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