Entry FeedLast night, as I was picking up milk and stuff for school lunches, I saw a box of six gourmet cinnamon buns at the grocery store.
My kids, and Husband, love cinnamon buns. Especially the "gourmet" kind with cream cheese icing instead of the sugar and water glaze. Normally I buy them from Cobs, a great bread store in our neighbourhood for $2.50 each, or $10 for Husband and the three kids (I don't partake).
At Sobey's they were $4.79 for 6, and they looked really good. I am nothing if not a value shopper. The boys split one yesterday when I got home, and then asked for one each for their breakfast this morning. Three down, none for Daddy. Daughter had one after lunch. Two left.
I could see both Husband and Son One eying them at dinner. Son Two had a hard boiled egg for dessert, and ran outside to play. Husband suggested warming the buns up a little in the microwave for himself and Son One. As he was warming Son One's, Daughter took the last one and started eating. It was hard to witness Husband's disappointment. You could tell that he had been saving room all through dinner for that cinnamon bun!
Son One took his bun and ran out the door to eat in the backyard. Daughter sat at the table, oblivious to Husband's laser stare scorching her back as he loaded the dishwasher.
"Honey, can you please give Daddy some of your bun?"
She broke off a piece the size of a dime. Did I mention that the buns are about 6 inches by 6 inches, or significantly larger than Daughter's face?
"Gee, honey. Do you think you could have given him a smaller piece?"
She broke off another piece, this one the size of my pinky finger nail. I forget that at age three kids are literal - no comprehension of sarcasm.
Now Daughter is out playing with her brothers in the backyard, and Husband is sulking in the basement watching the news. And there is half of this cinnamon bun just sitting at the kitchen table staring at me...