Have a great weekend!
Twin A (age:2.75, blog name: Cobra) is sitting at the kitchen counter, waiting for her burrito to come out of the microwave. (Yes. A fucking frozen burrito. At least now the kids like them warmed up instead of straight out of the freezer.) Her sister is still making "cake" with all the different colors of Play-Doh we own. Whatevz. She can join us later.
I hold the gallon of milk in a way that gives Cobra the illusion she is pouring it into her new Abby Cadabby cup by herself. "I want lots," she says. We pour lots.
The microwave dings.
"I hear-ed something," she says, fanning her fingers from her cheeks in a way that's not so much cupping her ears as creating the illusion of dorsal fins on her face.
I pivot to collect the radiated vittles.
I hear it first.
The trickling of milk off the edge of the counter. The splash of milk on the hardwood floor.
Then I see it.
Cobra, frozen, holding the cardboard tray the burritos had once rested on, in the same position it had been in when it made contact with the Abby cup and set the catastrophic wheels in motion.
Read the rest on Dad Centric...
Despite my self-righteousness, I must now admit that there have been a few drawbacks to keeping our kids on this very restrictive media diet.
Read more at Aiming Low...