The two-year-old and I were going a little stir-crazy this morning. She has some sort of leaky nose-and-butt combo virus and lord knows I haven't felt well for eight months, and the combination led to a lot of whining—plus the two-year-old was no angel, either.
Finally I declared that we needed to get out of the house—to go somewhere, do something to break my funk if nothing else.
"The park?" she suggested.
"It's too cold for the park. I don't have a coat that zips up over my ridiculous belly," I complained.
She contemplated this for a moment. Then, "Let's go get a muffin!"
I smiled. She smiled. Then, eying my ridiculous belly and sensing how much of her muffin I would eat, she said, "Let's go get TWO muffins!"
She is so my offspring.
(The muffins were delicious.)