I succumbed to a craving yesterday, and bought some "breakfast buns" from the bakery section of the supermarket. These buns are actually more like individual danish, and they will need to be dead to me after the baby comes. Weight Watchers is not so much on board with the breakfast buns.
I was eating one of these glazed, apple filled lovelies this morning, when I heard the familiar stomp of Fiver's foot on the playroom stairs. Since he narrates every move he makes, I could hear him reviewing his plan to get me downstairs to build him an elaborate train track.
My exact thoughts? Fat chance, buster. I am having some private time with my buns.
(I think I just changed the whole tenor of this blog with one sentence. Oh well.)
He made his way in to the table, and he was in the middle of asking me to perform feats of engineering magic when his eyes landed on my plate.
Fiver: Oh, hey Mom. What are you eating?
Me: A breakfast bun.
Fiver: Oh. Well, I've never tried that so I don't know if I like it.
Me: Would you like to try some now?
Fiver: I guess I should so that I know if I like it or I don't like it.
(He takes a bite and struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head)
Fiver: Oh I DO like them, Mom! I should probably share with you.
Me: That's fine.
(we finish the entire bun in .27 seconds)
Fiver: I'm really glad I tried that bun. Maybe I'll have one for later.
Me: Did you need something up here, buddy?
Fiver: Uhhhh . . . no . . . I can't remember. I'm going back to play now.
Oh, how I shall miss your mind-altering powers, my dear, delicious breakfast buns.
(And PS: Feeling much better today -thanks for all the happy thoughts. If I were Wendy Darling, I'd be ripping through the atmosphere at the speed of sound.)