The Mooned Pie

Each year, when Summer vacation arrives, I find myself overwhelmed with a sense of dread and concern, not knowing if this will be the year my kids will actually kill each other, or if I will end up in jail, because of some stress-induced psychological breakdown, followed by a wild, outrageous crime spree.  And people would be whispering, "I always knew something wasn't right with her."

Don't get me wrong, I adore the kids.  But one can only endure so many episodes of "America's Funniest Home Videos," break up so many arguments, and rescue the cat so many times.  And they eat all of our food.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little.  It's not THAT bad.  And this year, it's seemed strangely easier. It's been mostly quiet, and everyone's been getting along.  I have been assuming it's the onset of maturity.

But then tonight happened.  

It's well understood in our home, that I won't buy highly processed foods.  So when junk food does happen to show up, there's a lot of excitement.  The other day, Steve came home with a giant box of Moon Pies, because we were going on vacation, and that means the rules get bent. 

Upon returning from a few days of camping, someone noticed that some of those delicious Moon Pies remained.  I managed to hold everyone off, until after dinner, but then they just started grabbing the last marshmallowy pies, like a pack of ravenous animals.  Steve had one, Noah had one, and Elizabeth hid one in her room so it would exist when the time came that she was ready for it.  I was planning to hide one too, but the box was empty by the time it reached me.  Those jerks.  And I'm telling you, there is more food secretly concealed inside this house, than there are hidden bones in a happy dog's backyard.  Not only do Elizabeth and I hide all of our snacks, I'm often asked to hide things for other people.  I can't even keep it all straight!  

Within minutes of the Moon Pie grabbings, Elizabeth, who is 16 years old, was walking around with a recently acquired stuffed animal.  It is my understanding, that moments later, Noah wished to hold,  touch, or take the stuffed animal.  She refused, and even took the toy into the bathroom with her, so he couldn't lay one finger on it.  It was at this time, that Noah slipped into her room, pulled her covers back, and victimized her sheets with a naked butt wiggle.  And during this process, she emerged from the bathroom, and discovered the debacle that was taking place.  Then there was running and screaming and violence, and whatnot. 

It wasn't until she returned to her room to strip the sheets off the bed for a good laundering, that she made the startling, disappointing discovery-- the last moon pie, that she'd hidden in her bed, was now a sad part of the "butt imprint" that Noah had left behind.  You can't undo that kind of damage.  Though it was still inside the plastic, it was forever tainted by naked butt osmosis. She ran into the kitchen, where Steve and I sat, enjoying a peaceful conversation, and plopped the contaminated Moon Pie onto the middle of my kitchen table, and told of the tragic demise of the last remaining processed baked good.

It was then that Steve responded by simply saying, "Well.. now it's a legitimate MOON PIE."