i want a snack

said the baby.

she kept pointing to my french vanilla granola, the french vanilla granola that i carefully ration out to myself every morning. that little bit of cereal that i allow myself. (i say this so that you might feel the proper sympathy and grief when the climax of the story comes about)  so i, in utter and complete denial, gave her the cinnamon granola that was bought for her thinking, she likes it and granola to her is granola.  so she decided to get her own snack, the one she originally wanted, the french vanilla granola:

i would like to point out that she actually did pour some into the cup that i always use in the morning.  where was i? well, i was right next to her doing the dishes and apparently blissfully deaf and ignorant.  so i saved the what had landed on the lid and let her walk around and eat her snack.  i did preach to her on her disobedience etc etc, i don't think she got it, but it was cute to watch her walk around get up and down etc oh so carefully so as not to spill her cup.  ten minutes later she tripped on the back step, spilled them all over the pantry, then turned to me and said: "all done".