This morning Robert asked for oatmeal for breakfast. Well, he asked for oatmeal and chocolate cake and Pop Tarts and ice cream for breakfast but, we compromised.
I made him a nice, big bowl of old fashioned oats with honey and cinnamon on top. I reminded him to stay at the kitchen table because he has a tendency to wander with his food.
I turned my back for one second…
(Isn’t that how every disastrous story involving children starts?)
When I looked up from the sink, I saw Robert’s rear end bolting for the living room with that dang bowl of oatmeal.
“Hey! Get back in here!” I shouted to him.
He froze, spun around and started running back to the kitchen.
He is still in his pajamas. No shoes on. Remember his short leg? He’s REALLY uncoordinated without his Super Shoes on.
Faster than I could say, “Slow down, please!” Robert tripped over himself and his oatmeal went flying. He managed a gold medal mess on this one. It hit a basket of clean laundry that was sitting on a bench, the whole front of the bench, and a five foot radius on the carpet.
In case you’ve never tried, let me give you this bit of trivia. Oatmeal is virtually impossible to remove from carpet when your only readily available tool is a tub of Clorox Wipes. (Don’t judge me. I had just gotten up and wasn’t really on top of my game.)
As soon as the last Wipe picked up the last bit of oatmeal, my husband conveniently woke up and came in to the kitchen.
The walls aren’t that thick in this house.
Methinks his timing was a little too good.