Yesterday I was puttering around in the kitchen while Charlie played on the floor. I heard him exclaim in a tone of wonder and delight, "Cracker!" When I'd finished what I was doing, I leaned casually over the counter to see what he meant.
Naturally, he meant an Annie's cheddar bunny — similar in whimsy, which is to say plenty, and in nutritional value, which is to say none, to a goldfish cracker. He meant, of course, that he'd found one on the floor.
On the floor behind the garbage can.
By the time I saw him, he was already chewing it with the rhapsodic look of a true connoisseur. Before I could weigh the pros and cons of reaching into his mouth and sweeping out the soggy fragments with a frantic finger, down his gullet it went. I have almost managed to convince myself that the occasional...found snack...can only serve as an invigorating boost to his immune system.
Do you think I need to step up my housekeeping just a little?