Projectiles

Yesterday evening we took the girls up with us to the fair to take down the FFA display.  Ryan drove the school truck with a couple of students, and I tootled along behind with all the happy future FFA students.

"Mom, is it dinner time yet?" and, "Are we there yet?" and, "Why is it taking so long?" and, "Waahhh!" were the sounds I drove to.  This boded well.

The usual 35-40 minute drive stretched to over an hour, thanks to a well-timed accident blocking a lane of traffic on the freeway.  The twins, who are (according to them) too big for naps, fell asleep 3 minutes into the drive, but woke up about 25 minutes later.

All the girls were happy to get out of the car to help.  The twins happily chucked half-rotten peppers into already full garbage cans, while Emma gently flung apples into boxes to take home.  Elizabeth scooped up handfuls of hops, threw them into the air and then whined that something was in her eye. 

I thought that the drive home might be quieter if the kids' mouths were full, so we hit McD's drive-thru before heading home.  They were excited for their dinner of hamburgers and chicken nuggets.  Ryan treated his three helpers to a .50 cent ice cream cone, then pulled along side me while I was parked and handing out food to the back seats.  Every last child of mine saw those ice cream cones, and thought I was so mean for not getting them ice cream for dinner.

So much for a quiet drive home.

Annie having recovered from her bad mood, threw a shoe at me, followed by her hamburger bun as I was speedily trying to make an end to the trip.