Kids... and Food Trucks.

My fondness for food trucks is well known, and documented. I promised Kristin that I wouldn't turn our family blog into a food review forum, so in this post, I will mix two of my passions, family and food trucks ;)

Bear with me.

There's a new truck in the Hamilton area - Curbside Crepes.  The text on the menu is probably too small to read, but they offer some delicious bites with creative names.

Take, for example, the Victor Newman (I'm not a soap guy, but this is arguably the most recognized soap opera character... maybe?)

A perfect blend of ham and cheese (if you don't get the pun here, I can't help you...), with tomatoes, spinach, pesto, dijon cream and parsley. Yum! I decided to forego the V.N. and try the "Crepe Ole" -

 Shredded chicken, feta, tomatoes, black bean salsa with avocado, cilantro and lime zest. It was a light, delicious crepe that was filling, but not overloading. The pastry was thin, which was great, but also peels away easily, requiring a fork (which was not provided). No matter, I'm no stranger to finger food. Keep an eye out for this bright blue truck - they also have sweet crepes, like the Planet of the Ape - bananas, coconut, nutella, and whipped cream. Sounds good!

Okay, if you're still with me....

I was home one evening, down on the floor with the kids, driving cars, building castles and having tea parties (yes, this big tattooed bear still has tea parties with his little girl), when Josh starts up his garbage truck. Normally, the truck is filled with smaller cars, or little people, or ... whatever he can cram in there.

"Dad, look!" vroom vroom vroom, here he comes...

"Dad, look!" he opens the back of the truck, "Food truck, Dad!"

Looks like my obsession fondness for food trucks is being passed along!

The First Stitch

Arriving home with my hands full, I fumbled with my keys, trying to get the door open. The kids evidently heard the deadbolt clacking and ran to the door to see who was there. "Daddy's home!" Emma called; "Dad, Dad, Dad!" Josh exclaimed. Teddy was glued to The Polar Express in the basement. I can't compete with trains, apparently.

Up the stairs I went and into the kitchen, Emma leading the way, whirling and twirling around. I set my work bag down and she looked up at me, her mouth open, a gummy candy inside. I'm not sure if it was the candy, or Daddy returning home - whatever it was, she was fired up! Twirling around the kitchen... I turned to open the freezer to put some parcels away, and out into the hallway she went.

Thud.

"Owwwww......" Emma stumbled back into the kitchen, and then ran back out into the hallway. I looked down. Drops of blood dotted the tile floor. Uh oh.

I whisked Emma back into the kitchen and up on the table to inspect. Blood dotted her white shirt. "Blub," she said, pointing to her pink pants. It took a minute to find the source, hidden under her hair, a nice little slice. As I parted her hair to have a look, "Ow, no touch it Daddy..."

Mommy and I examined the injury. Looks like it needs a stitch. With a quick consult with our personal nurse (thanks Sue!), Emma and I were off to the clinic. A rare trip in Daddy's car offset the injury, and Emma was excited to ride in the infamous Grimace.
"Are we going to the doctor?" I ask while driving,
"Yep."
"Is he going to fix your head?"
"Yup!"
"Do you think he can fix Daddy's head too?"
"Nope."

Thanks Emma. ;)

Emma was patient as we waited for the doctor; sitting on Daddy's lap, snuggling her blanket, she watched the other kids go in and out.

Finally, our turn. Emma stared around the room. "pooter..." she said, seeing the clinic's computer screen. "Papa's pooter." "Yeah," I said, "that looks like Papa's computer doesn't it?" "Paper" she said, feeling the crunchy paper beneath her. "Bathroom..." "No, just a sink" I said. "Sink." "Telephone" "No, Emma, that's to look in your ears""Oh."

The door opens and in comes the doctor. She stares.

"Hi sweetie, how are you?" he says, getting closer to the "blub." She stares.

"What's your name?" I prompt her. "Emma," she says quietly.

The doctor has a look and Emma stays still, skeptical of this new doctor. He turns to gather his equipment. She stares, carefully watching him. He puts on his gloves. She watches, and then turns her eyes up at me.

"mittens...." she says. I can't help but laugh.

Needing only one stitch, the doctor and I decide to reduce the amount of needles by 50%, foregoing the freezing. She held still, bothered more by the hair in her eyes than the stitch. As the stitch went in, a little cry - breaks my heart - but stayed still.

Like a champ.

The doctor left the room after some parting instructions. I thanked him and Emma looked at me, "No doctor." Nope, no more doctor, honey.

We walked back down the short hallway to collect her prize - Emma forgot all about the stitch - helped by a Dora sticker and a lollipop. "I'm all fixed Daddy!" Yes, you are...

Rewarded with chicken nuggets and a chocolate timbit, for bravery, Emma was back at home. Within seconds she was showing off her stitch to her brothers and twirling around. "Did we learn nothing today, Emma?!"

Kids....