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The beautiful yellow of delicious cheese.

I was hanging out with The Littles today and we were having an exceptionally great morning. So great, in fact, that I eventually realized something awful was going to happen. There were snacks, 80’s dance music, bubbles, and a leopard print top. It was a magical return to my childhood. All I needed was a cardboard cutout of Madonna with wrist bangles.

I even managed to get one of The Littles to reenact Dirty Dancing with me. She was thrilled to be up in the air and her arms just did their part all on their very own.

It was pure heaven.

Then the bottom fell out on The Giant and The Littles.

I start to get lunch ready and I realize that it is macaroni & cheese day. Not just any mac & cheese, Stouffer’s mac & cheese with broccoli. Yes! There I was, smugly contemplating how my life was the best as I walked to the freezer.


That is not enough to feed the kids and myself since The Littles are Chowaholics. Someone’s going to have to sacrifice a child to the gods and eat something different.

This is the moment when the devil and the angel are sitting on my shoulders. That damn angel is reminding me that the kids are the priority and they adore Stouffer’s mac & cheese. She’s also rubbing in that I’m an adult and can delay my gratification until another day.

That angel is quite the little bitch.

The devil on the other side is merrily telling me that they’re just Littles, they won’t know you screwed them over.

That devil has quite the logical argument.

I ponder the massive dilemma I find myself in while looking at The Littles. I swear their eyes got bigger and more watery as I continued to look at them – like they sensed I was about to pull a fast one.

I finally sided with the angel and made them the Stouffer’s.

As The Littles ate the last tray of my beloved Stouffer’s mac and cheese until it was gone, I sat there envisioning that Mother Theresa had nothing on me – I’m definitely getting sainted for this. Or at least the Nobel Peace Prize!

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