I was putting away the Easter stuff, which consists of me dumbing out the grass from the baskets to make sure there isn’t a jelly bean or, more importantly, a chocolate egg, hiding. As I was trying to solve the problem of how the baskets nestled together to fit in the box, I noticed Tornado A coming over to investigate. His eyes lit up, and he hustled over, crawling as fast as he could.
He stopped next to my foot where a pink foil chocolate egg. A lone survivor of the great gathering of Easter candy. Tornado A picked it up and opened his mouth. I swooped in and took away the egg.
Tornado A looked at me. He then flipped on his back. And he then proceeded to wail his discontent to the heavens above. He mourned the cruel fate, his evil mother, his need for all things shiny and sweet as he screamed.
I looked down on him. Huh.
Do you think that will help?
Do you think that will get what you want?
Do you think that your brothers didn’t do that?
Do you think you can succeed where they couldn’t?
Aren’t you a little young for that?
So it begins . . . .