It was 1994 and our youngest, Kory, was still a newborn. There were those nights I didn’t get a lot of sleep with late night feedings, diaper changing, and the need for cuddles. So I remember one morning, Shawn had left for work early and I finally stirred and padded into the boys room. Kory was sleeping in his crib, but Kyle He wasn’t in his “big boy” bed. The house was silent, so I scurried down stairs to look for him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, but the fridge was open. Back tracking, I walked through the living room. There weren’t that many places to go since we only had 5 rooms in our townhouse. He had to be close by.
Just then I heard giggling from behind the couch. Slinking my face to the wall, I peered around to find Kyle crouched on the floor with what looked like a banana in his hands. Upon closer inspection, he peeled the paper away from a stick of butter and was taking bites out of it. Good grief.
My alarm was set early from then on to make breakfast for my kids. I’m grateful he didn’t have a butter induced heart attack by the age of 3.