So, when I last left you, we were just leaving the illustrious Iron County Fair, right?
Before we left the fair, before we rode on our few token carnival rides, before I learned that motion sickness is actually an act of God, and before Heather rode around the fairgrounds in a 50-gallon barrel that had been converted into a train car, we bought a bunch of fair food for our lunch.
I had a Navajo Taco, which isn't at all important to our story, but I must say that I DO love a good Navajo Taco. Yumma yumma.
Heather had a chicken finger kids meal. It was seven dollars, which seems awfully spendy for a kids meal, but you should have seen it. There were like six big old chicken fingers there, and a half a ton of fries. I don't know what kind of kids they were expecting at that place, but we had two adults and five children all snacking on those fries, and there was plenty to share. It was like we were living in some kind of french fry fairy tale or something, because those fries just never ended. They must have been magical fries.
However, the ketchup was NOT magical ketchup.
After awhile of sharing the fries, the ketchup ran out. Also, the ketchup on MaKell's hamburger ran out. We were feeling ketchup parched, believe you me. At one point, someone (I can't remember who) asked Heather if they could have a few of her fries. She replied that that would be fine, but that there was no more ketchup for the fries, which was a very sad state of affairs.
Luckily for us, at that point, our fine hero tuned in. "What?" said Tyler excitedly, "You need ketchup?" We replied that there was no ketchup to be found anywhere.
At which point, Ty BEAMED . . .
. . . and said the phrase that I later shared multiple times with everyone in the family who hadn't been there at that particular moment, and still repeat to myself and Eric and Heather from time to time because it just tickles me so.
"Don't wuhwy guys,"
(Tyler currently has a few difficulties pronouncing those dang "r"s that tend to be pretty tricky for young mouths sometimes. This little fact makes the story that much better, in my opinion.)
Having put our worries to rest, Ty reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out the perfect solution to our problem, a packet of ketchup that was the perfect size for our needs. I proceeded to open the packet (at his request), and following Ty's direction, distributed the red deliciousness evenly between the fries and the hamburger. Everyone was happy once again!
At that point, Ty's mother who had been preoccupied with something else, took note of what was happening. When she learned that Ty had saved the day by pulling a ketchup packet out of his pocket, she started laughing. Hard. Harder than the situation warranted, really. I was confused, and in answer to my quizzical look, she told me the following story.
Apparently, about three or four weeks previous to this event, ShaLiece had been straightening up the van, and found this lone packet of ketchup. So, she threw it in the trash. Not too long after that, Ty saw the ketchup in the trash and admonished his mother about it. "Mom!" he stated, "We don't waste ketchup!" ShaLiece wasn't really up for a battle at that particular moment, and so, knowing in her heart of hearts that the ketchup packet would at some point be split and all over the van if she let Ty take it out of the trash, she nonetheless let him take it out of the trash. Ty placed it carefully in the cupholder of his booster seat.
Where it stayed day in and day out for several weeks.
Until the day that we went to the Iron County Fair.
On that day, for some reason, Tyler determined to take the packet out of the van and put it into his front jeans pocket, thereby putting himself in the position to save the day at the exact moment that our day needed saving.
Coincidence? I think not.
More like super-human powers, if you ask me.