Boo Bug knocked over her milk this morning. Though warned with quotations not to, she was so busy bouncing in her chair and trying to play with Bacon Bit while drinking that she tipped it right on over.
“Oh no, mommy, I spilled!” she cried.
“Oh dear, get a towel,” I advised, grabbing one myself.
“Ok, ok, ok!” she shouted. “You get the high parts, I’ll get the low parts!!”
Muttering “oh dear, oh dear, oh dear what a mess!”, she wiped the milk from her chair and the floor, while I soaked up the lake from the table.
As I was tossing the towels into the laundry, she surveyed the ex-damage with a sharp, critical eye. Then she turned around, grinned up at me, and thrust her tiny thumb skyward.
“OK. Good job, mommy. You’re a gold star mommy today!”
Hot dog. Gold Star Mommy. That’s me. Milk Wiper Upper Extraordinaire.
…does this mean I get to pick a treat out of the basket this afternoon? Cause I’ve got my eye on one of those miniature spiragraphs in there…
P. J. O'Rourke
15 hours ago