Trev commented this morning that she was like a walking stick of potpourri, and then the name "Grandma Glade" was born. Subsequent baths have still not fully removed the essence.
This morning after the kids were out the door to school, Lulu asked for her "freckas" (read: Breakfast). She asked for strawberry cereal, which I know to mean the Special K flakes with the freeze-dried strawberries sprinkled on top (thank you Grandma Hansen). I got out a little green plastic bowl, poured the flakes and sprinkled the berries, and sat it down in front of her. Lu's face twisted sour as she said, "No strawberries! No strawberries!" I got a new purple bowl out of the cupboard, not wanting to fish out all the strawberry pieces, and poured her a new bowl of just flakes. I didn't even get it set on the table before she whined, "No Mama! I want the green bowl! GREEN BOWL!" I sighed loudly, the kind of sigh that usually makes Trev ask what my problem is. I dumped the original green bowl with strawberry-infested contents into a 3rd bowl, poured the untainted purple bowl contents into the now unoccupied green bowl, and set it in front of her. She looks discerningly at the bowl, examines it, then starts crying, "I wanted strawberries, Mama!"
"Seriously?!" was all I could think to say. I walked to the original green-bowl contents now in a 3rd pink bowl, fished out 3 or 4 strawberries, walked to the table, held them over her bowl and said, "You want these strawberries?" "Yes!" Lu squealed in delight. I dumped the berries on top, splashed the milk, and walked away. Lulu-2, Mama-0.