Palmer is finished going potty and I'm instructed to dump out his pee pee. Like, now. The food is close enough to ready that I able convince Russell to just go get in his seat and I'll bring it to him right away! Do I buckle his booster? Only if the meal is messy enough to warrant the potential meltdown that "clicking" it for him may trigger.
The waffles are browned to a lovely crisp. Winning. I dread the day they decide to strike for syrup instead of the much more benign butter and cinnamon sugar combo I have 'em hooked on. Palmer needs underwear. Now we can eat. They can eat.
I haven't blogged in 2 months and figure I can squeeze in a post while they have breakfast. I sit down with my coffee and turn the key lock off the keyboard and find the mouse hidden on the shelf out of toddler reach. Palmer needs water in a big boy cup with a straw. Also, more foffles pwease. How did he already finish those? June is done with that torturous bouncy seat. Turns out, I can nurse a baby while buttering a waffle and convincing a three year old that he doesn't have to have a straw because the cup already has a spout.