While I’m in Singapore for work and house-hunting, Dom and Niamh are up in Beijing still having fun without me. They carried on our Saturday night tradition of making pizzas at home – something I was jealous to be missing out on. When I talked to them Sunday morning, Niamh was only too excited to tell me that she was eating pizza, at 10am. Visions of our house moonlighting as a frathouse flashed through my head. But hey, she squealed that she loved me and missed me so all was forgotten.
Turns out, pizza night is a lot messier without me around to clean up the dishes as we go, and then scour the kitchen before bed. Needless to say, Daddy had a lot of dishes to deal with in the morning.
By early afternoon my two presciouses called again – singing a very different tune.
“I don’t feel good” announced Niamh.
“What’s wrong?” I ask in a panic, there is nothing worse than a sick child you aren’t there to take care of!
“I threw up” she says.
After asking to speak to Daddy, he was also no longer walking on sunshine.
“She’s really grumpy and becomming a handful,” he promised me.
Turns out, obvious morning pizza aside, while Dom was cleaning up the kitchen he “found her” in the living room in front of the TV – with a jar of peanut butter, eating it by the handfuls. Apparantly, our pantry had experienced a security breach while he was busy scrubbing dishes.
Assured we weren’t on the brink of a stomach flu, I hung up the phone confident we were never to young to learn there can be too much of a good thing.
Do YOUR kids break into the pantry? What’s their vice?