Stop Making Toast!
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
My youngest child is pretty handy.
He can run the vacuum cleaner. He can dress himself. He can run the DVD player. He can make his own ham and cheese sandwich.
And today he has learned (well, taught himself) a new skill.
I heard him scurrying around in the kitchen . . . rummaging through the pantry . . . I could even hear the sound of his flabby little belly pressed up against the counter. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but I suspected he was busy making himself as sandwich, as he often does at various intervals throughout the day.
All of the sudden, I smelled the crisp aroma of warm toast.
I heard a lever pop up, and then my little guy came running into the living room with two lovely browned pieces of toast.
"They're for you, momma. I made toast for you," he said sweetly. He tried to force a piece of toast into my mouth, but I blurted out, "Can you sit them on the table for me, please? I'll eat them later" before he was able to lodge the slice of bread in my throat.
He ran into the dining room and lovingly placed the pieces of toast on the table, side by side, and then bounded back into the kitchen to prepare more toast. In all, I believe he has toasted about a half a loaf of bread.
Guess we're having BLTs for supper.
He can run the vacuum cleaner. He can dress himself. He can run the DVD player. He can make his own ham and cheese sandwich.
And today he has learned (well, taught himself) a new skill.
I heard him scurrying around in the kitchen . . . rummaging through the pantry . . . I could even hear the sound of his flabby little belly pressed up against the counter. I wasn't sure what he was doing, but I suspected he was busy making himself as sandwich, as he often does at various intervals throughout the day.
All of the sudden, I smelled the crisp aroma of warm toast.
I heard a lever pop up, and then my little guy came running into the living room with two lovely browned pieces of toast.
"They're for you, momma. I made toast for you," he said sweetly. He tried to force a piece of toast into my mouth, but I blurted out, "Can you sit them on the table for me, please? I'll eat them later" before he was able to lodge the slice of bread in my throat.
He ran into the dining room and lovingly placed the pieces of toast on the table, side by side, and then bounded back into the kitchen to prepare more toast. In all, I believe he has toasted about a half a loaf of bread.
Guess we're having BLTs for supper.
He's forever getting eggs out of the fridge and bringing them to me so that I can fix them for him . . . he LOVES eggs!
