Saturday Morning Time Machine

This morning, wearily dealing with the weekly bookkeeping chores while Kathy was out shopping, I posted this to my Twitter account:

Paying bills. I think I liked childhood Saturday mornings, packed with sugary cereals and cartoons, better than those of my adult self.

When Kathy arrived home, what should she be bearing but two great big boxes of Peanut Butter Crunch Cereal! She had seen my Twitter and decided, as a “thank you” for my weekly financial management efforts, to give me that Saturday morning cartoon experience again. How awesome is that?

I happily settled down in front of the TV and gobbled two bowls of the sugary stuff while watching Ratatouille. All it lacked was the presence of my younger brother to argue with about who should win the Laff-A-Lympics. (I unfailingly rooted for the Really Rottens, solely because it really made Chris angry.)

But alas, my youth has gone. The cereal was still as sweet, the cartoons still every bit as wonderful. (In fact, in absolute terms, I’m sure everything Pixar has produced far eclipses anything from the Hanna Barbera crowd.) The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, and I promptly found myself napping in front of the TV — the very thing for which I used to give Mom McMains a terrifically hard time.

But you know what? I enjoyed it every bit as much regardless. Thanks, Kathy, for your thoughtfulness this morning.