Last time we went grocery shopping, those toaster strudels with the frosting and the fruit filling were on sale. The kids love them, so we picked some up. They come six to a box, and there are five of us, so they wind up being a special treat, a one-day breakfast that only happens after payday.
Yesterday morning the kids had their strudel breakfast. The older two finished theirs quickly before they had to start getting ready for school, which actually takes quite some time since it's gotten so cold out here. Boots, snowpants, scarves, mittens, hats... all these things take time, especially when you're a five-year-old who likes to dawdle. Since my youngest is only 18 months, she more or less meanders happily while the others get ready until someone (usually my husband) grabs her and starts shoving her into her own winter gear. Yesterday this process involved taking the remains of her strudel from her, since having a scarf over her mouth and mittens over her hands kind of impedes the eating process. She cried, not understanding why this yummy treat was being taken from her, and sulked while she was bundled up in warm clothes.
Once she and I got home after dropping the older two off at school, I went to the kitchen table to find the rest of her strudel so she could finish it off. Not seeing it, I gave the husband a call.
Me: Did you eat the rest of the baby's strudel?
Him: Yes. Yes, I did.
Me: But... it was the baby's strudel!
Him: There were two bites left!
Me: So what you're saying is you took the strudel away from the baby, made her cry, and then ate it yourself?
He started laughing, that laugh when you know you're not supposed to be laughing but you can't help it. "Man, I'm a jerk."
This morning, I woke up to find the little one got the sixth and last strudel for breakfast while everyone else had toast. I am so very amused.