I rarely buy soda. We aren’t health nuts, as evidenced by my frequent baking, but the orthodontist recommended “no soda,” and when you’ve shelled out $10,840 for braces, it seems prudent to follow her directions. My kids, of course, LOVE soda, and, when I bought some this Saturday, they actually had a “Soda War.”
It was like “The War of the Roses.” Over a carbonated, lemon-lime beverage.
First Tay took the case of Sprite (which I only bought because it was a REALLY good deal) into his room, joking that it was “all mine!” (Yes, that was accompanied by a chuckle of glee.)
I think the kid needs to get out more.
At lunchtime Rea realized the soda was missing, so I told her to go ask Tay for one. He gave her three.
Which made her quite self-righteous. “Only three? Three isn’t half of twenty-four!”
Good to know her math skills are on par, but, really, how many sodas does one need with lunch? Especially since, when soda is “in stock,” the rule is one soda per DAY.
I needed to study and reminded the kids of the another rule: “Do not interrupt me unless you are bleeding heavily or the house is in flames,” and headed to the solitude of my bedroom and my astronomy textbook.
Meanwhile, Reagan plotted a soda retrieval expedition and stealthy stole the cans from her brother and hid them in her room. Taylor, discovering her devious ways, masterminded a counterattack, and, in the process, broke her door frame.
Reagan called her dad at work to complain about Taylor’s trespass and destruction; of course, she conveniently left out her role in the shenanigans.
Taylor sincerely apologized and attempted to fix the door. All was good.
Then Chris arrived home from work and, failing to consult me about subsequent developments, read Taylor the riot act.
Then told me, “You shouldn’t buy soda. We don’t need soda in the house.”
The soda wars were to turning into their floral namesake.