I’ve been called lots of things in my life but this takes the cake, or, in this case, the soup. Yesterday my 10-year-old son, Stoney, called me Potato Boy.
Things were crackin’ in the kitchen yesterday. Well, my wife and Stoney were crackin’. Stoney was craving potato cheese soup and was willing to do whatever to get it, including peeling potatoes. The process was simple—he peeled, she cleaned and cut. The rest of us were doing exactly nothing to help.
At a certain point, I asked Stoney a very important question. OK, maybe the important question I asked him was not really a question. Maybe it was really a point, which I thought was a really important point. I told him to be more careful because he was missing the can and getting peelings on the floor.
Without dignifying my excellent point, he looked at me and said, “Here, give this to Mom, Potato Boy.” He's 10. Ten!
No rides to write about. It has been stormy. I have to admit, it’s nice to see snow on the mountains. Against the blue sky and scattered dark clouds, the white rocky mountains look very majestic. When things calm, it will be time for lunch meetings on the ice.