this morning #1370.

this morning, no matter how fervently he begs & pleads, there’s no way in hell that i’m going to make him another plate of pancakes. he needs to learn his lesson the hard way. he’ll have to have a bowl of granola like the naughty little boy that he is. if he persists with this shit, he’ll get oatmeal. PLAIN. pancakes are not frisbees. we’ve gone over this many times before. a half-dozen times this year alone. it goes like this: i make him a plate. one huge pancake with a whipped cream & berries face. super cute. i set it down in front of him. the second that i turn my back, i hear the shout of “fly, my guy!” followed by a little giggle & the thwap of pancake connecting with kitchen tile. it’s clear that he’s my child.