Love

The sugar is flowing here with all the school parties. The girls' party was yesterday. The morning started with Grace, after trying on seven different outfits, emerged from her room, piggy bank in hand, saying we HAD to go to the store before school to buy chocolates for a particular boy in her class. I was pleased her father had already left for work, and we reached a compromise. She could buy him a candy gram from the PTA fundraiser and sign it as a "Secret Admirer", which had just enough mystery and romance to appeal to her and saved me having to deal with too much drama. Their eyes were glazed in a sugary film by noon.

Last night after dinner, Henry handed me a recipe, titled, "Bruno's Cake", and he told me all about a story his class had read about a bear who had made this fabulous cake.

"I told the class you would make it and bring it to my Valentine party tomorrow!" says my little helper.

Since I can't say no to Henry, because of those damned sad clown oil painting eyes, I resigned myself to do it. I had no butter, so Mitch went to the little store after dinner for a million dollars' worth of butter. I made the cake this morning and it tasted like a brick, but I made it look pretty with powdered sugar and strawberries. Besides, there were cookies, candy, rice crispies treats, and cupcakes to tempt the little second graders with. Henry ate so much crap that he barfed a little into a garbage can, but was stuffing M&M's in his mouth before he got back into his seat. He brought one of his sugared-up comrades home for the afternoon, and Jack also has a few buddies over until tomorrow. I can hear them upstairs, snickering and snorting over the anonymous love notes they got at school.

My husband brought home a garden tiller last week, and mentioned that is was my Valentine's present. Also, as part of the present, he tilled all the chicken shit into the dirt for me. Love means never having to till your own chicken shit, I guess.