I had just set down Tornado A’s lunch, when I looked around the room for him. He was tucked in a corner, holding onto the side of the couch, trying to get to whatever Tornado S was playing with. I walked over and picked him up.
Me: All right, little man. Time for lunch.
It was then that I noticed his palms were brown. All brown.
Oh. Dear. God. No.
I turned him around and checked his diaper. Nothing. Thank God.
Then I sniffed his hands. They smelled of nothing. I didn’t think there was chocolate he could get to, but with the older two boys, one never knows.
I looked around. I wonder where the brown marker is and what else is now brown.
I’ve got to keep a better watch on these kids.