Uh-oh, dropped chicken.

Yesterday while I was making dinner Emma wanted to be held. With her on one hip I reached into the fridge for a bowl of chicken I had chopped up earlier. Somehow I dropped the bowl. Fortunately Emma did not hang on to my choice words as the bowl shattered.  I set her down and ordered her and Maya not to move while I cleaned up my mess. Emma kept asking me, “what happened, mommy?” and I explained my klutzy ways about every tenth time.

Fast forward five minutes…

Emma is walking around with a bowl of blueberries. She trots into the kitchen and just as she passes the fridge she throws her bowl on the tile exclaiming, “uh-oh, dropped chicken”!

At this moment I realize my time to make-up stories for Matthew about what happens during my days at home has passed. Like when an entire plate of cookies is gone at the end of the day I can’t blame the dog anymore.

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