smite your forehead

Wesley is a trifle delicate today–everything is a crisis.

For example, before naptime, he ate a cup of yogurt. He neglected to go rinse the cup and put his spoon in the sink (which is the rule).

Mary, who did not nap, did it for him.

When he woke up, he asked (already quivery-lipped), “Where’s my cup and spoon?”

I told him that Mary put it away for him, and added, “Wasn’t that nice of her?”

He opened his mouth and HOWLED. “I WANT MY YOGURT CUP! I WANNA WASH OUT MY YOGURT CUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!”

Mary walked by, sighed deeply, and said, “Wesley, stop. You’re stressing me out.”

The drama in this household is absurd.

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