A constant point of contention between me and Brad is his belief that I never buy/cook/order enough food. 

Ever.

So, the big two have midweek tonight and because it’s Lent and all other good Lutheran families go to church on Wednesdays during Lent and eat supper together before the service, our “yeah, mom and dad don’t feel like dragging two exhausted toddlers in front of the public and, you know, God” kids are not being provided their usual pre-midweek pizza. 
Rather than listen to complaints about PB&J, I said I’d stop at Burger King to pick up cheeseburgers to feed the kids before Keaton and Hutton had to leave. While sitting in the drive-thru, I debated how many fries to order, and, not wanting to waste $3 and a bunch of uneaten food, landed on one King-size box.
I drove home, dropped off Keat and Hut with the sack of food and instructions not to eat all the fries, then sped to get Rusty from preschool, turned around, and walked through the back door a few minutes after Brad arrived with J and Roo. 
Brad, shaking the carton at me: “Are these all the fries you got?”
“Yeah. You and I aren’t eating, and I figured one was enough for for the kids to share.”
Brad rolls his eyes, setting off 20 minutes of me muttering various versions of:

“That’s it, from now on I’m done picking up food. You all can just eat sandwiches and Ramen. I never get it right. If you want food, kids, daddy’s gonna have to get it for you because I’m over it.”
The kids finish eating in stages. Rusty walks up the basement steps last with his plate, looks at Brad and says, “I’m done.”
Brad grabs the remaining few fries from the box: “Do you want more, buddy?”
Rusty: “No, I’m good.”
Brad looks my way as I stand against the kitchen counter, smirking. 
Brad: “Leave it to Rusty to throw me under the bus.”
He’s alway been my favorite…

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