Lego my eggooo

Back in the 1970’s, there was this ad campaign for “Lego my eggo.”  While we skip the name-brand, you both love your frozen waffles.  Apparently, the toaster was unplugged this morning, and you were unable to defrost/cook them on your own.  So you got the step-stool, turned on the hot water in the sink, filled a bowl, and started dunking your waffles in order to heat them up.  Then, you got upset that your waffle was all gooey, and nothing short of a blast-furnace would ever make them crunchy again.  I have to give you credit for creative problem solving, but neither one of you wanted to eat them after that.

Last week, you both got up before me.  This is not uncommon, and you both know to leave me alone until 7:00AM.  On one particular morning, Lucas, you were snuggling with me in bed while I could hear Anna out in the kitchen doing who-knows-what.  I knew I needed t check, and soon, but I was also groggy and snuggling.  But what I discovered, Anna, was that you had made chocolate milk for all of us and were proud that you had not spilled any.  I did not question your assessment of pride, despite the milk over part of the counter.  What I did ask, my dear, is where you got the chocolate?

You see, I had used the very last of it the night before, and put milk into the bottle to shake out the last bits before drinking it, and left it on the counter.  So there had likely been at least some spoiled milk in the bottle by the time you used it.  Reluctantly, I had to take away the milk you had so thoughtfully prepared for each of us.  My dear, you were devastated, and thought that you had done something terribly wrong.  I told you what happened, and you cried all the more “I did not know!”

Yes, my love, you did not know, and I was grateful for your effort, but for a good half hour you were beyond consoling and said you were never going to make breakfast for us again.  For a while, that may be a good thing – at least not by surprise.  But I do hope the memory does not stick with you for the rest of your life.

You see, I remember being maybe your age when I got milk just before bed, and also had an incident with chocolate.  This was nothing so serious as Death-By-Chocolate, but it stuck with me nonetheless.  On this particular occasion, my mom poured the chocolate syrup into my glass and was stirring with a spoon, perhaps a bit too aggressively.  The glass broke, pouring its contents all over my lap and the floor, after which she screamed at me and sent me to bed with nothing.

So just for the record, dear Anna, you did nothing wrong… you were being kind and thoughtful, and it just didn’t work out right.  I should have put the empty bottle into the recycle bin and none of it would have happened.

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