In response to a prior post or two about Cory’s…trips on the “tantrum train” (formerly known as the “crazy train”), a couple, three people, who knew Daddy like forty years ago or something and then only very well, ridiculously claim that Cory is so much like her Daddy, that the resemblance (not talking physical here) is so uncanny, that, well, the only thing to observe is that karma is a bi…um, an itch. Where do these crackpot people get this stuff?
A few days earlier the kids left their Crayon Tower on a sunny table. Three-quarters of it melted into that weird, impossibly white, waxy mush. A new one is ordered, and a day or so after Daddy’s smug childhood “friends” smirk about what went around coming back around, Cory and Daddy dump out all the colors and, you know, separate them: all the shades of green go here, all the orange-ish crayons placed together here, etc. Fisher shovels in spoonfuls of Cheerios mixed with dried cranberries, as he watches. Whew, that task’s done. Check it off. Crayon Tower ready for use.
The next morning, while Daddy is scrambling some eggs…
C: Daddy, I want to put the colors together with you.
D (not really listening): Uh huh.
C: So, we can just start over and do it.
C (muffled noise): Daddy, come! Can you please sit next to me?
D (turning to see the Crayon Tower dumped over next to Cory’s placemat): Cory!
D: Why did you dump that out?
C: Daddy, I just…
D: We just fixed that yesterday!
C: But, Daddy, I just want to put the colors together with you again.
D (reaching for a stern voice): Cory, now we have to do it all over again!
C: I know, Daddy! But, I just want to do it with you.
D (trying really hard to maintain some disapproving tone): Cory, that’s a lot of work, and we still have to eat breakfast, and…
C: But, we can just do it, Daddy.
D (sighing, terribly put upon): Cory, aargh! All right, I guess we are going to have to…
C (smiling): Come, Daddy! Sit in your chair.
D: Cory, I really…
C: I can do the pinks. You can do the purples, okay?
D (suppressing a smile as he moves the finished eggs to bowls for the two of them): All right, Cory, but it is really not a good idea to dump them out after we organize them. Then, we have to organize them again.
C: Here, here is a purple. I’m doing the pinks.
Fisher begins scooping forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, as he watches.
D (faux reluctance): You think that’s purple? You don’t think it should go with the blues? Remember there’s more room for the blues than for the purples?
C: There’s lotsa space for the pinks, right, Daddy?
Seriously, people. The tree’s, like, right here ————>
And the fruit’s, like, way, way over here ——————>