There Will Be Child... There Will Be Child.

Today was an eventful day, honest. Even for the mother of a preschooler, it was an eventful day. I was supposed to meet my dad at 8am for brek, but after spending last night being woken hourly by The Child, (who kept dropping Its pillow, and shrieking, "MOM!! HELP! HEEELP!! I dropped my pillow again.") I slept through my alarm and wasn't even up when my dad rang the bell. Yeah...oops.

After brek, some family from out of town was arriving, and we arranged to meet them and my parents at a local faux-50s diner that The Child can never get enough of. I'm sure that one day in the fairly-near future we'll have to have a little chat about idealizing the past, McCarthyism, etc., after which I will force The Child to memorize all the lyrics to "We Didn't Start the Fire" as if that will make any sense to It. But not today! Today was a happy day for burgers and fries and similar all-American crap which everyone enjoyed as I tried to be subtle about constantly checking my phone for updates on the Indy 500.

My husband got a massive, gorgeous, sexy double-chocolate chocolate-chip milkshake, complete with an ethereal crown of whipped cream and what The Child refers to as a "cappuccino cherry." I tasted; it was awesome. But, what happened next was even awesomer: The Child stands up in the booth, very deliberately bend stiffly and oddly formally at the waist, and- hands clasped behind Its back- begins sucking on Its dad's milkshake straw. Then, it turns with a triumphant smirk to my husband and says, "DAD! I. DRINK. YOUR. MILKSHAKE. I DRANK IT AAAAALLLLL UP."

Seriously- you can't make this shit up!