mom give: McDonald's blue, boring french fries

So, on Saturday, my hubby and four children ended up at--of all places--at McDonald's in Lake City. The irony of this is that:

1) I sort of dread McDonald's, and I (on a normal day) cringe at the thought of being the stereotypical American whose kids are chomping on french fries in the back of the soccer-mom minivan; and
2) Lake City is not my favorite place. I'm more of a breezy, by-the beach, St. Augustine girl.

So, you know what happened, right? The baby and toddler were screaming and my first thought: Pull this minivan over so that we can stuff some french fries in their mouths. (Did someone just say stereotype?)

I dragged the two little ones inside with me. I kind of hung my head in shame. "Ugh," I muttered to myself. "I hate this place. One thing. We are just getting one thing: greasy, nasty french fries."

Just moments later and with hot, salty, golden, yummy, waist-expanding fries in hand, we were headed out of the door, when ...

I noticed this couple. And the reason I really noticed was because the young woman was looking dead at me. I had seen this look before, especially in South Carolina. You get to the point where you know the look. You don't even have to read their lips. You can read their minds.

The plump, bleach-blond, twenty-something girl with a little too much eyeliner whispered something to her man, who was sitting right across from her. And he turned around to look at me; and then my children and he smirked. And then he laughed. An audible laugh. All while looking in our direction.

OMG.

I looked around the place and I quickly realized that perhaps my colorful family was a little less common (or a little less accepted) in these parts. My thought: This idiot just laughed at me and my babies. I walked by him, pulled my shades off of my face and took a good look:

He was wearing his huge belt buckle and the boots and oh, and the shirt with the rebel flag on it. Yada yada yada. I guess this was the day for stereotypes. I wanted so badly to say to him: "You stupid, ignorant idiot. Don't you know that your president is bi-racial?"

I marched out to the mom-van and with a disgusted look on my face, said "Okay, everyone out of the van. You too, hubby." (Hubby's expression: Oh no, what is she talking about now? She was only in there for five minutes. Probably less than that.)

"Um, are you kidding me?!" I said to hubby. "Did I just get a "look" because my children are bi-racial? Come on, honey, I want to really give him something to talk about. Not only does that white woman have two brown babies. She has four! Oh, and she is married to a black man. Come on, let's blow his mind today!"

But, I laughed it off. "You know, I am just messing with you," I told hubby, who was now giving me the deer-in-headlights look. "I just think it would be great to march back in there with four kids--and you--on my arm."

You know, it's a good thing that I am not God. Because I wouldn't hurt the poor guy. I'd give him just what he wanted: a world filled with one color. His sky, his dirt, his toothpaste, his car, his jeans, his skin ... would all be blue.

And his fireworks ... they'd all be blue. Just like his hamburgers and hotdogs would be. And guess what, his McDonald's french fries ... they'd be the same boring blue, too! And then, maybe he'd realize how stupid the whole thing really is. He wouldn't be laughing at my world. No, he'd be begging to get a glimpse of my beautiful, colorful sky filled with amazingly, colorful fireworks.

By the way, here's a few snapshots from my, um, rather colorful weekend.