Last night, we went out to dinner. The dinner lasted an hour and fifteen minutes. Neither of us had to get up and juggle the infant. He sat quietly in his high chair. We had adult conversation and witty repartee. We may have even flirted. “How could this be,” you ask? Do I have an abnormally placid child? No. He hates being strapped in places and is always on the move. Did he have a great nap? Yes, he did, but that never makes any difference. He always breaks down right about the time we want to go out to dinner. Did we just get lucky? No way. We’re always on the wrong side of Murphy’s law. Do you want to know the secret? Huh, do you? Cheerios. One at a time. Stretched out across the dinner. Little circles of carbohydrate goodness. Dave said “It’s like we discovered his Kyrptonite.” We laughed manically as we sat smugly and watched the little boy grab each piece with his index finger and thumb and drool all over his bib. He grinned up at us, proud of his ability to feed himself. And do you know how we celebrated such a monumental achievement? We fed him more cheerios of course.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
