Holy Crap

I’m self medicating with a Yoo-Hoo.

Last night I grilled some rib-eyes for Father’s Day dinner. I decided to slice up the leftovers for lunch with salad. I put a good amount of sliced steak into a container and went back to the table to finish clearing.

We do not feed Trixie at the table. She eats her food from her bowl while we eat. If we have some table scraps to give to her, they are placed into her bowl after our meal is over. She gives us the “you people never feed me” look at the table, but we never feed her there. It’s all very civilized.

As I was clearing the table I was surprised that she wasn’t following my every move. Usually she is underfoot trying to angle her way into some rice or a piece if meat.

When I got back to the kitchen I realized why she was so quiet. I hadn’t put the lid on the container and she reached up to the counter to help herself. She pulled the container over to her food bowl and ate the steak there.

Fine, dog. Have it your way. But you’re not getting any of my salad, even if you promise to eat with a fork and knife.

Which wouldn’t be so bad if it was just me. I could, you know, control these urges to pack too much. But the problem is more far reaching. I come from a long line of over-packers and so does The Mister. Unfortunately, we’ve passed this unnecessary gene to the kids.

Now I’m sitting here playing Solomon over laundry baskets of clothes for two kids for four weeks of camp and I’m trying to cull the herd. Each kid was given a list with quantities which they blatantly ignored. My qualification for sending an item to camp? Would I be upset if the item was lost forever.

My kids are going to be the worst dressed at camp which automatically guarantees a nomination for me as Mother of the Year.