Cookies for Breakfast.

I was getting ready for the day when I noticed that Oliver was mysteriously silent in the other room. I walked out to the kitchen and found him up on our high bar stool chairs, chocolate smeared on his face and belly.

Oliver climbed up onto the stool, climbed up onto the counter, grabbed the bag of monster cookies, and then sat back down at the counter to have a civilized breakfast.  That part just kills me. The fact that he felt like he had to sit on the chair and eat them at the counter. Like an adult. Like Jared & I would.

When I confronted him about climbing onto the counters, he didn't have much to say for himself.

In fact, I think he was quite proud.

"Were you eating a cookie?"
"Cookie."
"Well, at least, was it good?"
"Mmmm...."




I told a friend of mine this story and she said, "How do you keep yourself from laughing at situations like that?"

I don't.

Waterbed covered in flannel.

So, I was lying in bed reading my book when I decided cookies were in order.

(Side note: I especially related to this exceprt from the book:

"People kept trying to prepare me for how soft and mushy my stomach would be after I gave birth, but I secretly thought, Not this old Buckerina. I think most people undergoing chemo secretly believe they won't lose their hair. Oh but my stomach, she is like a waterbed covered with flannel now. When I lie on my side in bed, my stomach lies politely beside me, like a puppy."

Picture that, and it is exactly like me. A good read. Purchase it used from Amazon for a shiny copper Lincoln. Literally. Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year)

But anyway, I wanted cookies. And Jared said, "I'll watch The Doob while you go run to the store to get cookie dough."

I responded, "I could just make it myself."

Jared, "You can do that? Isn't that hard?"

"No. Haven't you ever made cookies before?"

"No. Except maybe one time I helped with sugar cookies."

Seriously?! Something must be wrong with him. Note to self: Make sure to make cookie with Oliver.