After a grueling Friday night where my children took two and a half hours to go to bed, prompting me to consider sleeping in the tub just to get away from the yelling, we had a lovely weekend.
Saturday morning, my coffee aficionado hub pitched a trip to 18th Street for some coffee and biscuits. Seemed a bit far to haul my ass but I do like biscuits, and coffee, and taking up my husband’s suggestions when feasible, so we dragged the uncooperative kids down 5th Avenue to Little Buddy Biscuit Company.
That’s where we ate
A terrifically tasty assortment of biscuits including buttermilk and cheddar with black pepper
One dastardly delicious crum bun.
The crum bun was a recommendation from the little buddy himself, the 5 year-old son of the owners, who popped right out from behind the counter to point it out to Primo who was undecided. Then he invited Primo to go to the back and play with the computer: “C’mon, ask your mom. Ask her, ask her, then I’ll ask my dad.”
I said it was OK which in retrospect was kind of irresponsible because “the back” is probably chock-full of blazing hot ovens and not the best place for two little boys.
But it was no matter because half a minute later, the little buddy ran back with bad news. “My dad says no but we can make flip books. Do you want to make a flip book? Do you? Do you? Hey, why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you know what a flip book is? Dontcha? Huh?”
“Go ahead, hon,” I said, pointing to a corner of the bakery where the little buddy had set up shop with paper, stuffed animals, Sponge bob books and a mammoth collection of magic markers.
The little buddy then began to fold, cut and staple paper like he really meant it. In the middle of this lengthy process Seconda ambled over (beware the second-child amble, it never bodes well) and picked up his little stuffed mouse.
“NOOOOOOOO!” he yelled, “YOU CAN”T TOUCH MY STUFF!”
“Sec,” I reprimanded, “you have to ask first.”
But the little buddy spared her the trouble, “If she asks me, I’m going to say no because it’s my special stuff and if she touches it again, I will be FURIOUS!”
I relocated Sec to another corner of the bakery and worked on helping Primo, who seemed slightly skittish of the little buddy, with his flip book.
“Make your book,” I encouraged, “You can use his markers. He said so.”
“No I didn’t,” corrected the little buddy, “You said he could.”
I was beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t take the crum bun to go, but I’m never one for giving up on a budding friendship so I asked, “Can he use your markers?”
The lithe buddy looked skeptical but reluctantly agreed, “OK.”
A minute later I heard, “What kind of a flip book is that? You can’t make a picture out of dots!”
Obviously, the little buddy hadn’t heard of pointillism.
I collected our stuff before Primo got his feathers ruffled, and then the little buddy looked apologetic, regretful that we were leaving, wanting to make amends. But still, a picture made out of dots? He couldn’t let that fly, now could he?
“Well you have to at least CONNECT the dots!” he urged, “C’mon!”
I thanked the little buddy for showing us a good time -- the biggest adventures we’ve ever had in a biscuit shop -- and we polished off the crum bun on the way out. We almost bought another one for the road. They were that good. Pullowy goodness, just as advertised.
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