Squished Potatoes*

Our kids have become really good friends with two boys across the street.

Honestly, it’s everything I was hoping for when we moved. They get along really well, and they love playing together. It’s a constant back and forth of our kids heading across the street to see if “the boys” are available, or “the boys” knocking on our door and peeking in our front windows to see if our kids can come play.

It reminds me SO much of my childhood up north and I am so here for it. My best friends and I were always back and forth all day long in the summers– and we’d appear on each other’s doorsteps and porches anxiously looking in to see when we could play.

The other night I hauled our kids in for dinner, and told them they could go back out when they were finished. I actually made a proper meal, which is a bit of a Christmas Miracle since having the baby. We had BBQ pork chops, grilled veggies in a balsamic marinade with a side of mashed potatoes… which I don’t make very often. I love them, but the prep just always feels like so much work.

The kids hadn’t seen mashed potatoes on their plates in a long time, and were excited to dig in. S had to ask me what they were called again because it had been THAT long.

While we were eating, we saw two faces appear at the front door, followed by a familiar knock. S began to shovel what was left on her plate into her mouth in a rush, and H went to answer the door.

Boys: “Can you come out to play??”

H: “Hi guys! We’re just having supper.”

S (yelling from the table): “I’m almost finished!! I’m coming!”

H: “I’m almost done too! I just have to finish my, uhh, (*pause while he searches for the name*) …my squished potatoes. Then I can come!

Boys: “You’re almost done??

H (more confidently now): “Yup! I’ll just finish my squished potatoes and I’ll be RIGHT out.”

Naturally I was giggling like crazy at the table listening to this exchange and made no effort to correct him.

…I think that I like “squished potatoes” better anyway.