Monday, August 11, 2008

Where's the Whipped Cream?


We always have at least two cans of Cabot Whipped Cream here in the refrigerator at Camp Wonegan.

There is no sound more disheartening than the sad, sputtering "pppffffttttttt " of a whipped cream can running out of gas. And never is this more true than when you've just spent 15 sticky minutes getting each of the four kid's ice-cream orders just perfect and finally - happily - fixing your own bowl of ice cream only to have the farting can remind you of all the vast sacrifices you make for your family.

Hence, the two cans. We never run out.

I know what you're thinking:

"But Sarah, you've already got a bowl of ice-cream! So you ran out of Whipped Cream, so what?"

"Yes Dear Reader, ice cream is pretty good, but Whipped Cream makes ice cream GREAT."

All four of our children were with their other parents this weekend. The exodus began on Friday afternoon when our prodigious babysitter, Laura, brought Hallie and Adam to their mom's house. A couple of hours later, Sophia and Eleanor's dad arrived to pick them up and all of a sudden the house was so quiet.

My first thought - as always - was:

"This is pretty good."

Our plan for the child-free weekend was simple and appealing. We would sit in the clean, quiet living room and read our books. We would cook and consume a few non-child-friendly meals. We would probably drink too much wine. We would sleep in on Saturday morning without the nagging feeling that perhaps we're pushing our luck by expecting everyone to get along without parental supervision until 11 am. If the weather was nice, we would go cruising on our boat, "Cate," and if it wasn't, we would go to the movies and see "The Dark Knight."

And you know what? We did all those things. And it was pretty good.

But you know what else we did? We talked about the kids incessantly. We shared stories about funny things the kids had done or said. I changed the kids' bed sheets and lingered for a few extra moments in each room, smelling their smells, noticing how they each decorated their own spaces, and missing them. We folded their laundry, scratching our heads over how fast they're growing while at the same time marvelling at the tiny-ness of little girl tee-shirts. We brainstormed family vacation ideas.

What am I trying to say?

We're the ice cream and they're the Whipped Cream.

Hallie, Sophia, Adam and Eleanor make Dan and me GREAT.

It's just not the same without them.

1 comment:

Hallie said...

I just had to put this out there, I think I am the only Donegan that doesn't like Whipped Cream. I prefer just plain Boston Red Sox Come Back Caramel.