The baggies are everywhere, under chairs, wedged behind toys, stuffed into wads of clothing. Their contents spill out onto the floor or chairs or counters; pretzel dust, dried raisins, cheerios. It's my bane.
The Boy, like all tots his age, requires snacks. His have consisted primarily of those pretzels and raisins. He carries a baggy of them everywhere, always. Sadly, he puts them down. He gets distracted. He forgets. This is usually followed by, "Daddy, I need pretzels raisins, please." "Where's your baggy?" "It lost." Great. If I'm lucky I can round it up, but all too frequently it is mystappeared for the hour or so it takes before the dog finds it and carb loads.
Yesterday, was a moveable feast for the brown dog. The Girl has stepped up to her own baggy, lest a war break out over the Boy's. She is less a baggy-loser than a spiller. The dog had a field day chasing the girl from room to room faster than I could keep up until that canine stomach had had enough and launched its contents onto the rug. MMM, thanks. "Daddy, the doggy threw up. Right here."
I suppose all those pretzels are better than the fat-laden goldfish tossed at so many toddlers, but I can't help feeling that I have a pair of barflies in the making. All those baggies weigh on my conscience as well. But what's a dad to do.
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