Last night was Bunco night at my house, y'all. It was a great time as usual, but we were up late cleaning up guacamole glops, carting recycleables to the outside bin and returning furniture, scattered to the four winds to accomodate the gaming tables, to its rightful places. Despite her own late retirement last night, B was up at her usual crack o' dawn, even-the-roosters-hate-her hour.
First words out of her mouth, as she peeled my eyelids open and beamed a sweetly manipulative smile into my foggy gaze?
Mama, WHERE did you put all those JELLY BELLIES from las' night?
(And that, my friends, is a line straight outta the You Know It's Gonna be a Long Day When ... Handbook. You recognize this, do you not?)
I've remained in a sleepy stupor despite her cheery attempts to jangle me out of it employing every cruel method her three-year-old mind can conjure up, short of dumping buckets of ice cold water over my head, so she's eating her breakfast in shifts: a cup of hot cocoa at 6:15, a handful of cashews at 7:30 and then the bunch of grapes in a bowl she recently finished up.
Mama, I finished up all my grapes. Can I have the whole bag of Jelly Bellies now? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?
You may have a FEW Jelly Bellies, but first you need to eat either a peanut butter spoon or a cheese stick. Which do you want?
Ummmmm... a peanut butter spoon! You know why Mama?
A peanut butter spoon is quicker!
I scoop SunButter, a nice big wad of it, onto a spoon and proffer it for her sticky consumption.
And I blink.
And she hands the spoon back to me, empty. Glistening. She's scraped the whole sticky wad of goo off the spoon in one big toothy gulp.
MMmmm mmmeady mmmr my mmmlly mmmllies mow mmmlease, Mama.
Yep. Long day, people.