I think all those trips have rotted my brain.
I've forgotten to make the marshmallows.
That's like forgetting to serve the bacon,
or forgetting to drink the coffee.
Honestly, I might be a nut or two short of a bushel.
Sweetheart G and Little e are packing for their trip to the beach with Grand M, while Nay-nay packs for her return trip home.
And Sweet G turned to me and said those fateful words,
"What about the marshmallows?"
My first thought was "What marshmallows?"
And then I thought, "Good god, I've lost my mind."
Technically, there is time to make them,
but as Big E is out for the day, I'd have to bring Little e with me to the store, which would be both of us walking to the store.
In the heat.
It's 97 degrees out, and I am a wimp.
And then, I'd have to boil sugar to 239 degrees.
I quaver just to contemplate it.
If my brain weren't made of mush, I would have made the 'mallows last night when it was only in the eighties. If, if, if.
Instead, I am the bad momma who is sending her girls off to the beach to eat (gulp) store bought s'mores.
I hang my head in shame.