Of Eggs and Toe

Jen is out of town this week, so I’m flying solo with the boys. I’ve done it before, so there are certain things I should be fully aware of by now. You can’t turn your head for even a second. I should have already known that, but I allowed a few minutes of peace to lull me into complacency.

David was watching some Lego show and John was playing quietly. He was riding his “bike” (a Razor Jr scooter) back and forth behind the couch and it seemed like a good time to check email and social networking.

Suddenly, it got quiet and I could no longer see John riding his bike. My blood ran cold.

“John Ryan!”

I heard something crunch from behind the couch.


John came around the corner of the couch with a broken egg shell clutched in his slimy little fist.

$&&&!!@&332!!!$!!!!! “Sit in the chair, John Ryan!!”

I took the broken shell out of his hand and put his toddler butt in our current timeout chair. With a sigh and a muttered curse I headed over to assess the damage:


I got the Spic N Span and a handful of paper towels and got to work. After John served his two minutes, he came over to supervise.

“Daddy, hi.”

“You’re in trouble, Mr.”


“Hi, John.”

John gave a little parade wave. “Daddy. Hi.”

“Daddy is busy right now. Cleaning. Up. Egg. Slime.”

“Sorry, Daddy. Sorry.”

“It’s ok, buddy.”

“Daddy, toast (he calls it TOE).”

“In a minute.”

I finished cleaning up the egg mess and sat down for a minute to catch my breath and pray for a little patience.

“Daddy, book!”


Just then, the corner of this:


Slammed me right in the beanbag.

“Get in the chair, John.”


“I’ll make you some toe, but first you have to tell Daddy sorry for hitting him in the nuts.”

A full minute of silence.


“You have to eat your yogurt before you get toe.”



Several minutes and many tears later, a carton of Yoyurt was consumed.


That all happened between 6 and 7. Time to make some toe.