Burnt Oatmeal Party

This morning started off like any other. Actually, I take that back. This morning, I decided to skip the typical nutritional Fruit Loop breakfast (because before I have my coffee, pouring some dry cereal in a cup and handing it to my toddler is about all I can manage) and made some hearty oatmeal on the stove. Straight up fancy sh*t, right? Munchie is in the kitchen, sitting on “his” rug, drinking a bottle of milk. Oatmeal is on the stove, I grab my coffee, and head to the table.

As I browse the news (via my Facebook feed and Huffington Post… very high quality news), I hear Munchie playing in the kitchen. While scanning something about rioting, I realize the kitchen is a bit quiet. “He’s just drinking his bottle again,” I think to myself. I move on through the “news” to see that Sweet Lemons scored a free coffee at Dunkin Donuts, thanks to a Ravens win last night. This reminds me to take another sip from my own cup.

The caffeine started to kick in… and I begin connecting dots… this silence in my home has grown suspicious. I quietly sneak out of my chair and peek over the kitchen island. HOLY HELL!

Munchie is standing at the trash can, lid wide open, with white gunk all over his face. My eyes further investigate, while my brain makes the connection. He is holding a straw, one end in his hand, the other in his mouth, and EATING the remaining whipped cream out of our Sonic milkshakes from last night… OUT OF THE TRASH. “Munchie! What are you doing?!?!” He just smiles, so proud of himself.

I kick it into gear, swoop him up, wipe him down, and shove the trash down further into the can. (This all happened so fast that no photo evidence exists… gasp!) I grab my phone to share this story with my sister. I hook Munchie up with some Curious George and return to the table, once again finding solace in my (now warm) coffee. I begin to relax in my chair… again.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

WHAT THE FLYING CHIPMUNK?!?!?

It’s the freaking smoke alarm! I glance up and look around to assess the situation. No fire. No smoke. Munchie is just sitting directly under the smoke detector, staring at the ceiling. What is happening?! The alarm usually only goes off when I cook… OHHHHH.

The oatmeal… I totally forgot!

I run to the kitchen, turn off the stove, and take the pot outside. I rush back in to open the front door. Grabbing a book (about teaching your kid Mandarin… don’t ask), I start fanning the alarm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Munchie… dancing his little heart out. His feet are hopping, his arms are waving, his head is shaking.

The piercing sound of the alarm stops (thank God). Munchie looks me in the eye, frowns, says, “Uh oh,” and begins signing “more.” It took me a second (still haven’t finished that coffee) to realize… the smoke alarm is his new favorite jam.

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