The other morning—let's say six-thirty-ish—June found our empty carton of Cherry Garcia from the night before.
For the next five minutes, she was very happy, using the dirty spoon to scrape gummy ice cream residue from the sides of the container, gleefully licking it off, and eventually, smearing stale chocolate all over her face.
For the following five (ten? twenty?) minutes, she was bitterly miserable. "Can I have ice cream for breakfast?" No. "Please?" No. "Ple-e-e-e-ase?" No. "But I want ice cream for breakfast!" No. "Ple-e-e-e-e-e-ase can I have ice cream for breakfast! I want it! I WANT it!" No. "Ple-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ase.........!"
Parenting before coffee—it ain't nothing nice.