Moronic Parenting Moments

"Time to make the vittles", I thought yesterday evening. Ok, so I don't actually use the word vittles. Reminds me of entrails or something equally grotesque. Rocky Mountain oysters perhaps?

As I got started on dinner, T.D. started to do the witching hour dance of "FEED ME WOMAN or Suffer my wrath!" Seeing as I don't like suffering at the hands of a two foot tall being with minimal teeth and less than stellar coordination I gave her a bit of a snack. Ok a treat. Really? I was just simply not thinking. Maybe I grabbed the treat for myself and ended up giving it to her. Maybe not. All I know is that a few minutes later I hear grunting and squeals of delight coming from a corner of the kitchen. The dog is licking something off the floor. That something being brown. Huh. I look at T.D. and she is happily sucking the life out of a tiny Dove square of chocolate. WTF was I thinking?!

Her little face is smeared in chocolate. Chocolate drool is running down her chin. Her hands? Completely brown. I shrieked. More out of "how could I?!?" than anything else. However, it was the wrong move. T.D. wipes her hands on her shirt thinking I'm upset with her messy state. "NO!" I yell. Again, not smart on my behalf. T.D. begins to wail. Her mouth in a chocolate-stained pout. I quickly wipe her face and hands as she cries harder. Then, guess what I do next. I grab the offending chocolate piece out of her hands to squelch further damage and mayhem and I pop it into my own mouth. Again I ask, "WTF is wrong with me?!" I thought the cries were bad before. Now they were downright screams.

Enraged that I ate her delicious treat she continues her cries of outrage as I scoop her up while simultaneously wiping the floor and shooing the dog away. Upstairs we change shirts and do a once over to make sure there isn't anymore melted chocolate to be smeared anywhere else. Clean.

All I can say in my defense is low blood sugar equates to completely moronic parenting.