"Here mom, I made you breakfast." She proudly proclaims as I hear the refrigerator door shut and she comes around the corner from the kitchen.
She could not be anymore pleased with herself and looks at me expecting to have appropriate praise lauded over her commensurate with the enormity of this moment.
"Here's some some eat-y yogurt for you." In our house, yogurt is either "eat-y" yogurt (meaning you eat it with a spoon) or "drink-y" yogurt (meaning you drink it from the bottle). And, no, I have no clue what to call that weird yogurt that comes in a tube like wrapper which you squeeze out... "get all over the place" yogurt, perhaps?
She walks up to the chair where I'm sitting and hands me....
a pint of sour cream...
and a spoon.
She could not be anymore pleased with herself and looks at me expecting to have appropriate praise lauded over her commensurate with the enormity of this moment.
"Here's some some eat-y yogurt for you." In our house, yogurt is either "eat-y" yogurt (meaning you eat it with a spoon) or "drink-y" yogurt (meaning you drink it from the bottle). And, no, I have no clue what to call that weird yogurt that comes in a tube like wrapper which you squeeze out... "get all over the place" yogurt, perhaps?
She walks up to the chair where I'm sitting and hands me....
a pint of sour cream...
and a spoon.
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