Sandwich Bags and Orange

There are things in life I just hate.  Hated.  Used to hate.  Aren't so bad.  Hmm, maybe I've changed my mind.

When I was young, I hated the colors orange and brown.  I grew up in the seventies.  Orange and brown were the number one and two colors swirly polyester pants came in.  They didn't look good to me and they certainly didn't feel good.

Then, at some point in my twenties, orange started to look mighty good.  I had a soft, comfortable t-shirt that was pumpkin orange that was my favorite.  I got some great slacks in brown.  They looked good on me and they went with lots of things.  Suddenly orange and brown was in.  It's stayed in in my mind and they're two colors I gravitate towards.

But sandwich baggies?  I hate "sandwich baggies" as my mother called them when I was growing up.  The kind of bags that don't have a zipper close, but are made from the most flimsy plastic and you have to fold them over to close or lock or whatever it is they're suppose to do to function as designed.

Suddenly, just like the orange, I like sandwich bags.  It must be the babies.  There seem to be all sorts of things I need a sandwich bag for.  Things that just don't work as well with a zip-lock bag.   Half a banana, a partially eaten yogurt that needs to be covered, the few remaining grapes.

Are sandwich bags age-rated?  "You must have children to have a need for these bags."  I understand how great they are now.  I no longer scoff at the whimpy "sandwich baggies" because I know their worth.

The Big Boy Update:  Gator Pops.  During the break at the pool the other day I had to come up with something to occupy him because explaining that we couldn't get into the water for ten minutes wasn't getting through.  They have Popsicles called Gator Pops.  It's a plastic sheath that you snap in half and have two sides to enjoy or share with a friend.  I gave him one side.  He started chewing on the plastic and orange ice came out.  He liked it.  He wanted both halves at once.  He had a marvelous time chewing and eating the ice.  He sometimes ate it upside down and orange sugar water got all over him.  But we're at the pool, so that was easily remedied when break was over and we could get back in the water.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Terrified girl.  My husband would throw my son in the air and count ONE... TWO... THEE! and throw him on three, bouncing him the first two times.  He has always loved it, laughing as three approaches.  My daughter is terrified.  He never makes it past two because she looks so stricken knowing what's coming up.  He can demonstrate, "Terrified Baby" by just going to two.