Even to begin with there was nothing fantastic about that zip-loc bag of spaghetti sauce. Except that it was frozen. And we were going to eat it.
That was until it was laying on the kitchen floor next to a jam stain with my son breathing heavily over it, making spaghetti sauce appeal to no one. Except my son.
Who wanted to help by getting all the frost off the bag and who could think of just one way to do it.
So here he was preparing to solve the non-problem.
And here he was solving away. His sister as witness.
By which time he turned the bag over and licked the other side, too.
And…
we had hot dogs instead.
I had a dream about sleep. . . 