Ellie Antics: Donuts

Everyone once in a while I have a brilliant parenting idea such as "let's get donuts for dinner!".

Actually, it was more like Andrew walks in and I am thinking "oh thank goodness!  Reinforcements!" as I peel Ellie off of the top of the dresser and plant her feet firmly back on ground.  Then I realize that I am frazzled and that I didn't cook anything for dinner.  Wait.  Let me correct that.  I do not cook in general.  We shall just leave it at I was frazzled and my hair was standing on end and there was a real sugar, chocolate-icing-with-sprinkles emergency going on.

She never gets into trouble.  She is the perfect little well-behaved toddler all the time.

I gasp to Andrew with my head burrowed into his chest "donuts.  We. Need. Donuts."  After which my beloved husband takes in the occurring chaos involving the toddler trying to sit in the kitchen sink and the 3 fur babies hacking up hairballs and demanding belly pats.

He replies "For dinner?"

I give him the look.

Off to Krispe Kreme we go.  Nothing screams Parent-of-the-Year like shoving a rambunctious toddler full of sugar and fat just a few wee hours before bedtime.

Now, it should be noted that The Bear eats donut holes.  Just donut holes.  Yes, this fact is important to the story.

DONUTS!!!!!  Somebody said donuts!!!!!

We waltz in the Krispe Kreme where they hand us a FREE donut.  Who does that? Seriously?  FREE donuts?!  I love this place! (can you tell I never go into a Krispe Kreme?)  Ellie takes note of all of the gloriously glazed donuts in the case and has a melt down.  A full-fledged, screaming, head-banging meltdown all because she doesn't see any donut holes.  At least, I think that is why she is pitching a fit.  Fortunately, only one other person besides the worker witnessed this debacle because I guess most people don't get donuts for dinner and thankfully, this patron was chuckling.  Sadly, I was laughing too, but trying not to show it.  I had to wear my serious, sympathetic mommy face.

I don't know what Mama is talking about.
I don't DO temper tantrums.  I am a Diva and Divas do not throw tantrums.  

I show Ellie the donut holes that were sitting on top of the counter and ask if she is "all done".  Sob. Gasp.  Big Sigh. The world is not over.  We can now progress to dinner.

The Bear only eats a couple of the donut holes and not her usual dozen (yeah, I know.  A dozen.  And she is so skinny too.)  As the sugar-buzzed Ellie Bear prepares to go into flight and wreck havoc throughout the entire eatery, Andrew deftly captures her so that I may peacefully sink my teeth into an ooey, gooey glazed concoction of fried dough.  Bliss.

As I look up with crumbs and flaky glaze across my face (I am not a dainty eater), I see my scrumptious husband lifting my daughter up to see the donuts being made.  It was a beautiful father-daughter moment that lasted all too briefly (as in not enough time for me to whip out my iPhone to snap a pic quickly).

Watching those rings of dough drop into the boiling oil, Ellie signs "BATH".

Proud-Beaming-Mother-Moment as I realize that my daughter is able to generalize bath time.

That's right, Baby Bear, they were in deed taking a bath.



*I do not typically feed my daughter fried dough.  Okay, that is a lie.  I do it every single Sunday morning.  It is a tradition. *