Inadequate Preparation

So, a little bit has happened over the last few weeks...  here are a few snapshots:

• Papa Don and Grandma Carole (the wonderful and blessed individuals that they are) graciously offered to keep BOTH of the children (yep, not one...  BOTH of them) overnight at their house on a recent Friday night, while Daddy was on his NM fishing trip with the boys, so that I could have a much needed, relaxing night of coffee with the girlies.  Being the planner that I am, I meticulously packed their bags, counted out vitamins, provided instructions, etc.  No worries, it's all been done before.  No...  don't count a munchkin out... he has a rider, with clear instructions that mustn't be ignored.  About the time that I get to coffee (which is about the time that the grandparents are dutifully getting the children ready for bed), Papa Don calls and says, "Um...  did you forget to tell me something?"  Of course, my heart drops to my stomach, I break into cold sweats and begin slightly panicking that perhaps I forgot some HUGELY important instruction or item for the overnight excursion.  When, naturally, I had nothin'...  dad says...  "Pink Milk"?  Ah, yes...  the Pink Milk.  Not to be confused or associated with the Great Milk Meltdown...  this is a new twist/version on the milk sensitivities of Jacoby Michael Dee.  You see, somewhere within the last two months, he decided that not only can he not drink anything other than his milk with the red or blue cap, BUT, it also must be PINK milk.  That's right...  P-I-N-K...  as in, sticky, liquidy, strawberry syrupy milk.  Mmm Hmm.  After composing myself (in response to the tragic unfolding of events that Papa described...  the tearful eye of my child as he longingly looked at Papa and Grandma and thought, "my mom brought me to a place that has no PINK milk?!?!?!  How could she?!?!" and the fact that Papa even tried to disguise the milk by coloring it with red food coloring, only for Obi to be insulted by the attempted trickery) and apologizing to Papa profusely for my utter failure as a mother to adequately prepare my children for an overnight adventure, I listened as the register at the grocery store chimed, as Papa was headed home from buying said pink syrup for Obi's milk palette pleasure.  With crisis averted, Papa and Grandma rightly redeemed and children ready for bed, all was right with the world.  As Papa put Obi down to bed, he raised his arms up and looked longingly in Papa's eyes and said, "Snuggle"?  Oops...  guess I forgot to tell him about that nighttime ritual as well.  :)