Breakfast with Smidgen

In response to a Daily Prompt, I shall relay my first encounter of the day earlier this week:

For all I want for her to get enough rest, I cannot help but enjoy it when Little Smidgen wakes up early enough for me to see her before I leave for work.

She appeared, sleep-tousled hair, footy-pajamas and all, at the kitchen table as I approached the cabinets for cereal.

There was the Stuffy-du-jour under her arm (it was the beginning of a four-day fixation with ‘Darling’, the stocking stuffer puppy she got at Christmas.) (I got a phone call from the stuffy the next day, wherein I was unable to decipher the whines and yaps. Our dolls and stuffed friends are VERY real…)

I got out bowls and spoons while she retrieved milk from the fridge. She has a new-found fascination with pouring from the big containers because: “Dad…I’m BIG!”

We sat and poured: Juice, cereal, milk…

Smidge: Dad?

Me: Yes?

S: (reading cereal box) This has a ‘hint of cinnamon’.

Me: A hint? Like a little clue? How do I find it?

S: When you bite it.

I crunch half of my oat square and peer inside the tiny half that remains on my spoon.

Me: I don’t see the cinnamons!

S: Daddy! You have to dink them…in the milk! Soak ’em!

(Dinking is a word we have adopted into our regularly used words from a misunderstanding of the word ‘dunk’ when she was two years old. Along with the songs: ‘Eidel-Mice’ from the Sound of Music and ‘Police-navidad’ at Christmas. They are just unbearably cute mistakes that must NOT be forgotten!)

So I made sure that I ‘dinked’ all my cereal in milk.

S: See, Daddy? That color on the edge of that one is cinnamon!

Me: Huh! It’s delicious! Thanks for showing me. Do you want a bit of donut?

S: YES! I want the cinnamon powdered one.

Me: There is one cinnamon and one white powdered. Can we split them and each have half?

S: Okay.

I cut them in half and she is standing in her seat to watch me carefully. Before I finish making the cuts she thrusts out a hand of warning!

S: I get to pick first, Daddy! That’s the rule!

My last view of her was from the window, her happy smile covered with a dusting of cinnamon-powdered sugar, waving her stuffed puppy’s paw to me to say goodbye for the day.

It is important not to stare directly AT her. Cute-tonium radiation could blind you. We suggest a pinhole viewer, like you would use for an eclipse.


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