Baby Boy and Darling Husband were tromping around the house the other day eating granola.
"Hey Hansel and Gretel," I scolded as I scraped the trail of crumbs from my feet. "If you want to eat do it in the kitchen. I don't feel like adopting a house full of mice."
Fast forward to today, when I find BB dumping the contents of a full box of Cheerios, cheddar bunnies, raisins and almonds all over the floor.
I didn't even need to ask what he was up to. To a three-year old, a pet is a pet, despite whatever squeaking, germy package it comes in.