So there I was...
I'm in the kitchen making dinner, when KJ comes bolting in with a very concerned look on her face. She immediately dives down and starts frantically searching under the fridge. Every so often I hear a grunt or a "ugh!". After about five minutes, I'm wondering what she is looking for. Stupid, stupid me.
"KJ what's wrong, baby? What are you looking for?"
"Mom! I'm 'ooking, okay!"
At this point I'm really confused.
"Looking for WHAT?"
"'ooking!"
Another few minutes go by, and I start thinking, "Oh, maybe it's her paci. Or she dropped her new Perry PEZ dispenser. I should help her." I turn the heat down, cover the chicken, get down on the floor, and now have my face pressed up against KJ's while I search for...whatever the hell we're searching for.
After a couple minutes of seeing nothing but some dog hair (eww?!), I look up at KJ and ask, "Ma'am, WHAT are we looking for?!"
... "What? Oh, nothing..."
She then gets up, pulls her paci out of her pocket, and strolls out of the kitchen.
(Above, a photo re-enactment of The Search)
I didn't serve the burnt pieces of chicken with dinner this evening.
I've never been a patient person, but by God I tell you kids will make you become a patient person... otherwise you end up in a padded room discussing why the meatloaf would make a good president with the two guys in your head.
And really, why WOULDN'T Meatloaf make an awesome president?!
...
:)
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