We Call Her Puddin'

Actually, we do not call her puddin'. Yesterday, my beloved three year old son decided it would be a good idea to help himself to the pistachio pudding mix that was formerly in my pantry. Despite me having told him several times in the last 24 hours, "No, Mommy is not going to mix up that pistachio pudding" he thought that if only he opened the package when I wasn't around, he would get his fondest wish. It proved to be too much for him because pudding mix was all over my table, my chairs, my floor and my dog. In his effort to conceal the evidence, he actually ended up moving it around further and further from the initial explosion point. He also apparently carried what was still in the bag over to the dog's water bowl to share the wealth with her. Naturally, I'm surmising all of this because I was not in the room at the time and it's very difficult to get a straight answer from a scared three year old. He knew he was in trouble and boy howdy did he try to avoid telling me anything more than he had to.

Miss Molly enjoyed doing her part to conceal the evidence before Mommy returned to the scene of the crime. She licked up a good portion of that package before I came back.