Candy Canes in March

My dad and I pushed, pulled, half-lugged the huge, heavy cherry hope chest I just HAD to have when I graduated high school.  It’s a beautiful piece, large enough to hold a body, full of useless junk I should throw away.  We maneuvered it across the room.  Thank God the house is so small.  We tore, ripped, cut the plastic wrap and paper off it like some huge present from a distant great-aunt.  Like a huge Christmas gift from a distant great-aunt, the chest was wrapped in the most difficult to open way.  As we balanced the chest on its front legs, Evan and Sean came up to inspect our work.


Evan: I’m a candy cane!


Funny.  He isn’t wearing his normal candy cane shirt, the white, grey, red stripped one.  He’s wearing his navy Wall*e shirt because he wanted to be Batman today.  (No, I won’t let him watch the movies or the show, but Daddy turned on the show once in a while.  Hey, did you notice the seven in the corner of the screen, dude?)


Me: Really?


Papi: What, son?


Evan: I’m a candy cane!


Me: Why are you a candy cane?


Evan: Because I’m sweet!  And yummy!


The chest came down with a thud, missing my toes.  My dad wheezed a laugh.


Papi: Sorry.  I wasn’t expecting that answer.

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6 Responses to “Candy Canes in March”

  1. Ink Says:

    Ha! That’s so funny and cute!

  2. dad Says:

    I miss you guys!

  3. KathyB! Says:

    Thank goodness it missed your toes!

  4. faemom Says:

    Ink~ Thanks.
    dad~ We miss you too, but we understand. If you’re going to read my blog, I better clean it up. No one tell him about the post with the *wink, wink* and the you-know.
    KathyB!~I seriously shouldn’t move things without shoes on.

  5. ck Says:

    Is it March already? Really? Damn, I need to get my shi…stuff together. Sorry, Faemom’s dad.

  6. faemom Says:

    Time flies. Now I’ve debated on how to tell you this. But the cheap easy name of “dad” actually belongs to my husband. But I thought I would use the cheesy nickname. But I tell you, you had both my dad and I rolling with laughter. We just haven’t figured out the most amusing way to tell my husband. Amusing for us that is.

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