The Adventures of Freddy the Frog the Fly

“What are you talking about?” I mumbled to my children over my burrito. I had been half paying attention to the muted tv screen high on the far wall, and half paying attention to what was happening at the table, but I wanted to increase my parenting points so I made a clumsy effort to insert myself into their conversation.

“Freddy the Frog!” I was told gleefully, as both children giggled.

“Oh, who is Freddy the frog?” I asked, waiting to hear about some cartoon character or book from school.

“He’s a fly,” I was told.

“Oh, sorry,” I responded. “Freddy the fly. I thought you said frog.”

“NO! Not Freddy the FLYYYY, Freddy the FROG!”

“I thought you said he was a fly. Sorry. He’s a frog.”

“DAAAADYYYYYYYY! NOOOOOOOOOO!”

At this point I considered going to back to watching CNN, or the Cartoon Network, or whatever had been playing on the television. Sometimes it’s hard to tell those two apart. But no, because I am a glutton for punishment I decided to get to the bottom of whatever it is they were talking about. “Okay, is Freddy a frog or a fly?”

“Freddy THE Frog!”

“Ok, so Freddy┬áis a frog…”

“NO! Freddy THE Frog is a FLY!”

Now I was really confused. “So what you are both telling me is that there is a fly whose name is Freddy the Frog?”

“YES!” More giggling.

“Oh, okay, well that makes sense,” I lied, returning to my lunch.

“There he goes!” My son jumped up out of his booster seat that he does not need but refuses to do without, and stuck his finger out as an insect flew by and landed on the red lamp that hung over the table. “Hi, Freddy the Frog!”

That’s Freddy the Frog?”

“Freddy the Frog deBuggy,” corrected my daughter.

“Freddy the Frog deBuggy?” I asked. She nodded. “Freddy the Frog deBuggy the fly?” More giggling and nodding.

“NO!” my son casually mentioned into my ear, “Freddy the Frog deBuggy deBUGGY!”

“Freddy the Frog deBuggy deBuggy the fly?”

“YES!” they both shouted, dissolving into fits of laughter and not eating any of their food.

We spent some fine times with Freddy the Frog deBuggy deBuggy, our local table fly, and when it became clear that nobody was going to eat anything else and it was finally time to go, there was some sadness. “I love you Freddy the Frog deBuggy deBuggy!” my son shouted, jumping up onto the table and blowing kisses at the fly, still perched on the lampshade. Soon my daughter joined him, although she was smart enough to only stand up in the booth and not on the table, and now both of my children were jumping in the air in a public restaurant blowing kisses to a fly.

If you are a parent, this has probably happened to you before. If you are not a parent and are curious about what it will be like, it will pretty much be like that. Confusing, whimsical, embarrassing, dangerous, fun, exhausting, and dirty. Considered yourself warned.

Posted in Edward, Food, Parenting, Restaurants, Ruby.

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