Breakfast
Yesterday the Mischievite wasn't getting ready fast enough for me. I kept telling him to get dressed and he just sat there on his bedroom floor, in his undies, with his back to me.
"Hey!" I finally said, after a good 10 minutes of asking. "Get dressed you!"
So the Mischievite turns to me, wipes his fingers on the floor and says, "Oh, sorry mom... I was just having my booger breakfast."
AAAAHHH! I swear boys may be the death of me.
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