Mom - "Well, just the pigs, cows, and chickens. And oh yea, turkeys too."
Grady - "We don't eat pigs!"
Mom - "Yes, we do. We eat bacon. That's pig meat."
Grady - "We eat Pygmies?"
Mom - "No, PIG MEAT."
Grady - "Huh?"
I may just be on to something. Pygmies, as defined by Encyclopedia Britannica, any group whose adult men grow to less than 150 cm (59 inches) in average height. Eat your vegetables Grady. Or we will eat you. And then I'm reminded by our friends at Yo Gabba Gabba. Don't. Don't. Don't bite your friends. What about your kids? Does that count? And what if they're under 59 inches? And what if they bite me first? It only seems fair.
Most mornings Grady wakes up begging for pops, gum, and Rita's. That kid can polish off an entire ream of Bubble Tape before you can say, don't swallow. He pulls out the whole roll and bites off a chunk. This morning he came to visit me in the bathroom. Requesting Rita's. I told him maybe we would get some at the Strawberry Festival today. I thought Rita's might be there. While
We picked up Nanny for an adventure with the triple threat last weekend. She bit me and stole my bike.
|Moments before the collision. Notice Lillian's sneak attack from behind.|