Robert's fussing. He's tired of the walker, tired of sitting on the floor, and tired of every single baby toy in the house. I sit him on the table for a change of pace. He's way back by the kitchen window so he won't lunge off the side. It works! He's happy and flailing his arms again. Whew. Alice is at her seat, munching on scrambled eggs and listening to "Stone Soup" the gajillionth time on the CD player (thank goodness for books on CD!). I'm washing dishes at the sink trying not to memorize the story. My back is to the kids. Robert starts fussing and straining a bit and I can tell that he's bored again. I rack my brain for a novel "toy" to hand him, "Wire whisk? Measuring cup? Tupperware? Spatula?" The fussing suddenly stops and I hear a smacking noise punctuated only by excited panting. Curious, I turn around to find Robert with nubbin of bacon poking out of his mouth. He has a big smile on his face and hickory-smoked drool dripping down his chin.
Exasperated, I ask Alice, "Did you give Robert your bacon?!"
"No. Bacon? What?"
I pull the bacon from his mouth. He had crammed half a slice in there! Apparently, he was lucky enough to steal the bacon off of Alice's plate while she was mesmerized by the story.
Alice wanted the bacon back, by the way, and she ate it all. Goofy, goofy, bacon-loving kids.
Check out Robert's hair halo:
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I don't know what it is with boys and bacon. They just can't get enough, and apparently they start early too.
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