Kerry and Gunnar are coming home late this evening. And by "late" I mean after dinner.
Wyatt and Tate completed their school work this morning, did a couple of light chores, loaded Grampa Grasshopper's truck with a bunch of brush and branches we cleared, and I have let them have a mini "Dirty Jobs" marathon on Netflix streaming. (I love that show. Let me count the ways...)
With Kerry not here for dinner, I have fairly loose meal plans, but Wyatt and Tate appear at my side with this request:
Mom, can we pleeeeeaase make our own dinner. You know, sandwiches, carrots, whatever.
I pretend to deliberate the merits of this request. (Not seeing the downside.)
Well, gee, I guess I could let you do that. Okay.
You know, as opposed to me actually stirring myself and cooking something. Yah, that would be fine.