Our two year old (and five year old) foster kids are now back with their mother, but there are stories galore. I'll be sharing a few of them here.
It was before work, and I was starting the scrambled eggs. K, our foster son, was eager to help. My egg cracking and stirring was quickly accompanied by the scrape of the chair across the kitchen floor. Soon, his tousled curly head was under my chin, asking to stir.
What’s this?Stirring the eggs, I notice that K is eyeing the box. Slowly, he reaches out and draws the box to him.
Cupcakes, please don’t touch them.
Hey buddy. What are you doing?At this point, I know that I should probably take the cupcakes away, but I am sort of interested to see how this is going to play out. As if on cue, I hear the sound of the clamshell cracking open.
Me just gonna look at them.
Okay, remember I said no touching.
Now, what are you doing? Remember what I said?At this point, the eggs are demanding my attention. I turn back just in time to see a small tongue touching the cupcake.
Yeah, me know. Me just gonna smell them.
Really? This isn’t going to end well.
Dude! I gotta take these away now.Fit ensues.