You Scream, I Scream

My mother may never serve my children ice cream again. Dessert seemed like a good idea at the time. The day had been relatively stressful (imagine that) and the kids had eaten the better part of their dinner. As my mother and I gathered around the table eating our ice cream, it became apparent that table manners had gone out the window. After much slurping and smacking, I reached my breaking point and asked "Should anyone else be able to hear you eating or drinking?" Asking an open ended question was my first mistake. Rebecca, delight that she is, chimed in with the dreaded "Yeah, you should never . . ." and then proceeded to put on a "When Harry Met Sally" worthy performance of the noises you should never make while eating ice cream. As I watched in a combination of fascination and horror, I quietly said a prayer that those were simply enthusiastic yummy sounds heard on an age appropriate movie / TV show. Sadly, that is not the end of my tale. After putting an end to the show, I looked at my mother and said "The next time you ask if your grandchildren can have dessert, my answer will be no." To which she quickly replied "Don't worry I won't be asking again." Leading up to the wondrous joy that raising a nine year old boy brings. Daniel, being oh so clever, rejoins with "Grandma, you know what you can do with your ice cream . . ." At this point my mother, who is a Donovan and a school teacher and should really know better, loses it. I, who am a Donovan and the mother of these delightful creatures and should really know better, lose it too. By the by, the answer to Daniel's question was actually something that only like minded nine year-old boys find funny "you should burn all of it." By this time the damage was done and much work was needed to maintain bladder control. You know, I keep trying to "train them up in the way they should go" but the Donovan genes (force) are strong in them and may not be able to be overcome.