The Theoretical Doughnut Argument!

Single girlfriends of mine speak of the dreaded biological clock. I have the cure!  If you want to silence that clock forever come take a road trip with me and my kids sometime.  Nothing like two or more hours trapped in a Jeep Cherokee.  The passenger on this voyage (usually me) gets to spend the trip twisted like a pretzel trying to hand out snacks, retrieve toys and beat children into submission all the while praying that the wheels on the bus come to a screeching halt. 

We live in my home town.  It is 20 minutes by car to anywhere.  If you want a metro experience, triple that time.  I’ve lived here since the second grade.  I know everyone in this town and the surrounding county.  (And they know everyone’s business.)  Gossip is a sport that takes a backseat only to high school football in importance.  My family and I live in the kind of town where the Mayor is still listed in the local phone book.  It’s picturesque and quaint.  It’s quiet—except for Friday and Saturday nights when the high schoolers go cruising past our house.  Children in my town still ride bikes all over town, without adult supervision.  It’s very Rockwell, very normal.  Normal is okay, right?

Anywho, there is a cider mill of some renown  in our neck of the woods.  They have wonderful cider doughnuts.  I’m addicted to them and apparently the addiction is genetic. Every, single, time we pass the Cider Mill on our way to anywhere all three of my kids cry for doughnuts.  So while on our way to Wally World one day, we passed the Cider Mill and of course the kids immediately cried for doughnuts.  Nanna, who was pretzel for the day, promised that we would get doughnuts on the way home.  Logan, who is in the middle car seat, says, “Yeah, doughnuts!” Porter, in the car seat behind the driver, immediately points a finger at Logan and follows with, “You NO doughnuts!” This causes The Theoretical Doughnut Argument to rear its ugly head again.  The argument basically goes like this:

Logan: “Doughnut?”

Porter pointing at Logan:  “NO Doughnut!”

Logan whining:  “Doughnut?”

Porter, more assertively:  “NO Doughnut!”

Logan crying loudly:  “DOOOOONUUUUUT!!!!”

Porter screaming manically:    “NO DOOOONUUUUT!!!!”

This argument continues until Porter and Logan are both screeching and wailing at the top of their lungs.  It doesn’t matter that both Nanna and I have told Logan that in fact, he will get a doughnut.  Logan believes the other two-year old strapped in the car seat next to him.  The argument only ends after I have pulled over and strapped Porter to the hood of my Jeep like my husband’s latest trophy deer.  Okay not really…. 

My husband hasn’t shot a trophy deer in fifteen years.