That's what I wanted you to think!

It could be said that I am a tolerant toddler, a patient preschooler. However, if you hear someone say this, don't believe another word out of their mouth, because that person is an idiot. I contend that there is no such thing, but I don't get out much. In any regard I've had my fill of this new routine and Dadda needs to stop taking me from my cozy and predictable home with my newly refurbished playroom and cartoons to the tooting job. I've officially exhausted all the areas to explore and he spends too much time with the older kids and not enough time taking me outside to play on the wet playscape or with the little doggie.

Take last week, for example, after my fireplace adventure, in which there was no magical land, just what turned out to be filth, I decided there are too many unopened doors in this house. So Dadda locked as many doors as he could and went back to awkwardly demonstrating prime factorization, greatest common factor and least common multiple. Don't tell him I wrote this, but I could've done a better job, well probably since Bubbas picked up math quicker than him.

Finally I gave up and went about occupying myself with mismatched toys and play sets minus the figures and accessories in the upstairs loft disguised as a playroom.There was a wealth of nylon structures, tunnels and tents and such, but I've learned that not only do they get hot and make it difficult to see the teevee, but I lose my competitive edge when I need the physical upper hand against an opponent, er, uh, I mean playmate. Eventually I got bored and came downstairs to pester Dadda, but even I know when someone is struggling with a difficult task and needs time to think. I may not always respect that knowledge, and more often than not I choose to intervene and impose instead. This time I let him alone to teach a subject that was beyond his scope of understanding and help myself to a snack.

I had the kitchen to myself. Should I brulee something, perhaps sautee, or just fromage? Chiz! I opened the pantry, and then it hit me, someone would surely come, they always do. Grown-ups have a sense about these things, that's why you always catch us looking you dead in the eye when we're caught doing something we know we're not supposed to. We're expecting it. However, this time I stood in front of the gaping maw of foodstuffs and kitchen accoutrement and was not disturbed. 

Does anyone else hear a choir of angels?

Originally I came looking for food, but the wealth of strange and exotic items made my head spin, so I dove right in. Of course the privacy of a walk-in pantry with a door made it easier to remain hidden and undisturbed. The first thing I found were boxes that had pictures of many different types of food on it. Was this some sort of magical container whose contents could conjure almost any combination of curious cuisine? I quickly opened it and found a transparent roll of plastic sheets. Hmm, there must be a secret to it. I removed one and found an empty plastic bag with a colorful seal on it. I opened the seal and wished for gummi bears and nothing happened. Undeterred I continues onto the next bag, Nilla Wafers, I imagined. Nothing. I thought to myself I must note the lot number of these magic bags, because after I took out every single baggie, none of them worked as advertised. I'm gonna be a cynic when I grow up!


I moved onto the next mysterious box and found some kind of metal paper. This stuff was cooler than play-dough and much less messier. I had to get some feedback on this! I took out a small sheet to Dadda. I knew if I took out the whole box, I'd have to share. Dadda was now on the verge of tears as he struggled to understand fifth grade math and again I decided not to bother him. Although, he welcomed the distraction and noticed my little treasure. As this was not a mathematical issue, he quickly surmised that I should not have come about this particular treasure through conventional means. He thoroughly investigated until he discovered my pile of broken magic baggies and roll of metal paper and presumably called the manufacturer.


Just before leaving I helped myself to a discarded bag of potato chips. Crumbs may not make for a good snack for a larger person, but in my somewhat smaller toddler hands, they are just right for me. I couldn't tell you where I found the bag, as items such as this were commonly left lying around, but Dadda was amused and concerned.

Notice the primitive squat as if eating a bowl of fruit as opposed to greasy bag of potato chip crumbs.

At this point we both decided this had to stop. Although it was a conscious decision for me, Dadda hadn't admitted it to himself. . .yet. So today I staged a series of low-level meltdowns and frustrations and we left early and for reasons I'm not privy to, though I imagine it had something to do with my persistence and intermittent control of the universe, we stopped going.


And I've never been happier.


Today I am master of the universe happy!