I love you guys. Really, I do.
I love this thing we have going. I write things. You write things back. It makes me happy. You make me happy. But I gotta tell ya - I'm having a hard time dragging my sorry, tanned, bikini-clad butt out of the rooftop pool and coming here in front of the computer and writing a post.
Not that I don't have a lot to tell you. Oh, I do. Lots. I think of a bunch of things I want to tell you as I'm gliding like a mermaid across the warm water letting the sun shimmer on my ever-browning skin, while the kids paddle around the shallow end naked and I am interrupted by bursts of uproarious laughter and shrieks of joy. And don't forget about those Strawberry Daquiri's ushered to me poolside by our bartender who is like my new best friend.
Oh yes, I'm thinking about you, my friends. I'm lovin' you. But love alone will not get you an inspired blog post.
I will, however, take this opportunity to make fun of my husband who as always makes for entertaining reading. Most of you who follow along regularly know that David has banned carbs and sugar and anything tasty from his diet. And you also know that this has been greeted with great consternation, hand-wringing, eye-rolling and mockery from me. Gratefully, he has lightened up a bit lately, although we are still working our way through the $70 worth of low-fat, low-carb whole wheat tortillas he had shipped across the continental US.
20 down. 80 to go.
But this trip has given me new insight into my husband. See, David's one real vice is ice cream and although he won't actually order an ice cream for himself, because he would have to ingest "the white death" (sugar) and this would violate the very tenants of his diet, he chooses instead to "help" the children.
And by help, I mean relieve the children of the burden of their ice cream.
Oh, he says he is just licking the edges, smoothing the drips with his tongue, inhibiting the melting, preventing clothes from being stained...His rationalizations know no bounds.
But I'm so onto him. Here's documented proof. Because that's the kind of wife I am. 
The baby is ordered a cone as large as her head, which is convenient. 
Someone please tell the baby to keep her eye on the cone. Her father is lurking nearby. 
David swoops in "to help".
More swooping. Edie is concerned. As she should be. 
Notice the ice cream is much smaller now. Poor thing.
Ah. Another child in peril. 
As I write this, David leans over my shoulder. This is our conversation:
David: I had to eat it.
Kim: What?
David: The ice cream. I had to eat it.
Kim: Really? Why?
David: Lucy needed help. I didn't like it though. It was pistachio. Very green. With nuts.
Kim: So you ate it, but you didn't like it.
David: That's right. My daughter needed help. I ate the pistachio for her. 
His love for his daughters knows no bounds.
As the cone gets smaller...
And smaller...
And smaller. And he knows I'm taking pictures of him and that I'm going to blog about this and still...
No shame.
xxoo YM
PS: Thanks to Gillian and Saint Tiger Lily (who writes a hilariously funny blog and is now getting even funnier because she is freakin' out about her up-coming wedding and there's nothing like wedding panic to make for funny blog posts, so go read her.) for obviously getting very drunk and spamming me with naked porno pictures of Bourdain...with a bone. (Wait. Is that a bone? Or could it be...?)
You girls made my night. Now, go have another drink.
12 comments:
Your girls are adorable. Too freakin cute. Great post.
I just caught up on your last 4 posts and I am loving all the food joy evident on your little girls faces. The sushi shots are priceless.
And Bourdain? fuggedaboutit.....gads, i have to send that to my Bourdain obsessed friend.
We weren't "drinking" merely "helping" relieve the world of its overburdening of Pinot Grigio.
We're magnanimous like that.
With "helpers" like that, who needs smootchers! :) That photo essay was hysterical!
oh david! why do you do this when you know your lovely wife is going to blog about it. no sugar my ass!
kim, i swear you put that picture of bourdain up just for me. swoon!
The sacrifices a father makes for his children. Kudos to David!!! The new age hero.
Oh Kim! I so enjoy your blog. Your posts brighten my day.. especially this one! Thanks for being so entertaining and for sacraficing for the masses by pulling yourself away from the daquari's and the beautiful sunny pool! Cheers! Cindy
Your husband is obviously protecting his daughters from a great danger by eating their ice cream himself.
He should be rewarded for such brave action.
I haven't commented before (hi!) but I HAVE to comment on this post...
I'm 23 years old, and to this day, I FEAR for my ice cream cone when my dad is around.
When I was a little kid, my dad would do the "Oh, you have a drip" and when the cone came back, 1/2 of it would be gone. My dad actually ordered ice cream for himself and still poached all of our ice cream.
My whole family is aware of this habit and we still laugh about it to this day.
Do I have to admit to the same tactics that your husband has?? I often "help" with drips but Izzy has become far wiser in his old age. He rarely allows me to get near enough to his ice cream and protests vehemently. Tell your darling Husband that his helping days are numbered!
LOL. My husband is the same, but now my soon to be 6 year is wising up to it by ordering yukky ice blocks in lurid colours which stain her tongue as her father doesn´t like them.
Love your stories. I can relate.
When I first encountered that picture of Tony and his bone, I had to put the laptop down, lean back on the couch, and breathe heavily for a few minutes.
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