As a kid, I grew up on a steady diet of The Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown and The Three Investigators books. There was even one occasion where my friends and I did some detective work on the famous “Who Crashed into Judd’s House and then Drove Off” case, but that’s a story for another time.
I thought that my best detective days were behind me, but then the Kid arrived. Now it’s the case of “Where Did the [insert small object name] Go?”
Like just about every other young-un I know, The Kid loves her Cheerios. The Wife and I usually put some number of them on her tray, and watch as she eats them. We try to keep track of how many we give her and how many she eats, just so we have a handle on what her food intake is. It also makes it easier when give instructions to babysitters and grandparents* regarding her normal routine. Lately it seems like she’s eating quite a bit fewer Cheerios than we’re actually giving her. If she’s not eating them, where are they? The Cat won’t eat them, and here are relatively few of them on the floor. Hmmm. It really is a hum-drum conundrum.
1 comment:
I refuse to be the source of the buns' cheerios. I followed every instruction to the letter even ignoring my own desire to clue the Kid in on ice cream. Being the perfect grandparent, and knowing that the other grandparents are perfect, too, I feel that the guilt here is appropriately placed with the parents...or the godparents. Oh, yes, that is the answer.
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