Ellie and I worked on a quiet Littlest Pet Shop Word Search puzzle while Chloe napped yesterday afternoon.

The word she became stumped on was “furry.” I’m looking for an “F” and a “U,” she must have repeated a dozen times while I collected a few crayon wrappers from around the kitchen table area as Chloe prefers practicing her peeling technique rather than actually colouring. While other kids will perfect colouring inside the lines, they’ll be no match for the timed peel-a-box-of-Crayolas drill. We’re up to 64 at record speeds.

I heard Chloe yelling from her bed, “Chocolate almond!” which triggered something in my brain that we had in fact purchased chocolate almonds earlier in the day while grocery shopping and in a cruel twist of irony, I found myself in front of the bag helping myself hoping the baby who had been begging from her crib, wouldn’t hear the plastic bag crinkling in the kitchen.

I started down the hall toward her bedroom to peek in at her sleep status. Was she standing in the crib planning an escape? Staring at the ceiling about to fall asleep? Was she already asleep, dreaming about chocolate almonds? Chewing a book? Chewing crayon wrappers?

I snuck closer to her room, just as one of the many, many, far too many, (can there ever be too many?) chocolate almonds rolled from my greedy palm onto the floor and stopped dead centre in front of her open door. If that’s not the definition of a cruel parent, I don’t know what is.

I grabbed one of Ellie’s crochet needles from the bathroom and extended my invisible arm to fling the almond out of sight before she caught sight or smell of it just as Ellie claimed victory over her Everest of a Word Search.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” I heard while kneeling in cat’s pose, golfing a chocolate almond into the next room. “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh” I whispered.

“Mom! F-U! F-U! Mom! F-U!”

F-Me indeed.