This morning Fiddledaddy left for the gym. About 20 minutes or so went by. I was sitting at the kitchen table with the children, peacefully eating my delicious oatmeal.
But dreaming of French Toast with lots of butter and syrup. With a side of bacon. Crisp.
And then I heard the door leading to the garage open. I did some quick math and determined that all the children were accounted for at the table. Emme and I looked at one another with large fearful eyes.
Since I was clearly the only adult in the room, a point which really could be argued against successfully, I got up from the table to investigate.
The room went silent as I crept down the hall. Slowly. Then with no warning WHATSOEVER, Fiddledaddy came whizzing around the corner. Nearly causing me to drop my ceramic cereal bowl. Still full of warm oatmeal.
I came very very close to owing the cuss jar some serious cash.
You see, I have a little problem. Well. I have more problems than I care to mention, but this one is particularly problematic.
I have been known to audibly curse when I’ve suffered a significant scare. I’m not proud of this.
Yet, it delights Fiddledaddy to no end.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TRYING TO KILL ME? WE THOUGHT YOU HAD LEFT?”
“Um, no, I was working in the garage and hadn’t left yet.”
A few minutes later, he asked, “So, I’m curious, if I had been an intruder, were you planning on throwing your cereal bowl at me?”
Yes, because I’m a cereal killer.
Thank you. I’ll be here all week.