A few weeks ago, the kids and I "rabbit-sat" for a friend. When the friends returned home to find the rabbit alive--at least, it was alive when I last saw it, I swear--they showed up at our place with a gift certificate for ice cream.
So yesterday I took the kids out for a frozen treat. When we go out for a frozen treat we have one rule: The total volume of ice cream must be larger than the dimensions of our own heads.
Even if it means that we have to take a little sit-down break before we get to the end of the treat:
Yes, even if it means we will enter into some sort of treat-induced coma, we soldier on:
I am proud to say that--like ballpark seagulls--my kids managed to slide the entire mess into their gullets with a minimum of squawking.
And that's all I have to say about that.