This week, Dear Reader, is Part 2 from my former newspaper column. It’s amazing to think this happened only seven years ago when it feels like it happened seven lifetimes ago. If you haven’t read Part 1, may I please suggest you read last week’s blog prior to reading today’s blog?
I began to interrogate, I mean, question, my son. Cam took me back to the scene of the crime. Evidently, in the store, my husband looked at our son and said, “Go get Pop Tarts.” Cam told me, “Go get Pop Tarts is something I never thought I’d hear either one of my parents say, so I had to make the most of it! I grabbed three boxes because I knew I might never have that opportunity again in my life!”
My disdainful look turned to the supposed adult in charge.
“Chad, how could you let him buy three boxes of Pop Tarts?”
Chad calmly explained, “You told me to go to the store. You gave me a list. I went to the store. I bought what was on the list. Pop Tarts were on the list.”
Then Chad gave me a little more insight into his grocery shopping theory. “You know I don’t like to grocery shop. I don’t want to grocery shop. . . .but I grocery shop. I do my best with the list, but I always throw extra items in the cart in hopes you will get mad at me and fire me from grocery shopping.”
So the ugly truth spilled out.
Meanwhile I glanced back at the offending three boxes of Pop Tarts resting on the counter. It was at this point our daughter walked out from her “Den of Homework” and discovered the Pop Tarts on the counter. “Who bought all the Pop Tarts? Three boxes? AWESOME!”
My husband stood smiling his Cheshire grin because obviously he had been labeled the hero and I had been labeled the zero.
But as the mom, I had the last laugh. One morning our children opened the pantry only to discover all three boxes of Pop Tarts were missing. Immediate panic set in! “Who ate all the Pop Tarts? Where are the Pop Tarts? What’s going on?”
Chad and I didn’t even try to suppress our laughter as I calmly walked to the pantry and pulled out the three boxes of Pop Tarts from the spot where they’d been so craftily hidden.
The children were not amused. I guess that wouldn’t be called the Pop Tart Loophole. That, Dear Reader, would be called the Pop Tart Joke!
Until the next Wednesday the Lord allows.