“Blankie,” Mister whines. I get it and his bink and squeeze in to the rocking chair.
“Bed time, Buddy,” I say. I pick up his night time stories and open to the first page. I start to read.
“Cruuuuuuunch, crunch, crnch, crnch.”
I stop reading and look up at Husband, seated a few feet away on Mister’s bedroom floor.
“What are you eating?” I ask
“A pretzel,” he says, still with a full mouth.
“Where did you get a pretzel?”
I groan. Then I repeat what I’ve said to Mister about a thousand times today. “We don’t eat food from the floor.”
Husband shoots me a look that asks why not.
“What if that came from his diaper?”
Husband’s chewing slows. Then he shrugs and swallows. “I’ve probably eaten worse.”
I guess his view is that what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
In the writing world, we’re told not to write about what we don’t know. What makes that list for you?