Chocolate Milk

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

I'm writing.

Obviously doing something. Matt is sitting at the table next to me, just sitting. Sophie comes over with a carton of chocolate milk, looks at me, and repeatedly asks: "Can I have chocolate milk momma?" Over and over. The usage of "momma" is pretty cute, but still, I ignore her until I can't take it anymore. I grab the carton and am about to pour her some stupid chocolate milk when I realize: her father is literally right there next to her, too. Why is she asking me? Why isn't he offering to help?! Sometimes I just can't spell everything out. Do I really need to think for everyone on top of keeping them alive?

This is the difference between being a mother and being a father (of course I'm unfairly over generalizing but I get to do that because this is my blog.)

She also likes to give me her freshly picked boogers. She'll just come up to me, silently, and stick her pointer finger inches from my face.