Nyan was his usual hot-and-cold self this morning: bright, cheery, happy and goofy when we first woke up. Daddy offered to make him some peanut butter and toast, and Nyan happily agreed. Fast forward three minutes later: the toast is done, the peanut butter is spread, and a hungry Nyan is in full-on raging a-hole mode. Cue the tears, the yelling, the 100% tantrum. Why?
“I don’t want the toast to smell like that!”
Eventually we got him calmed down, tears and snot wiped off, food in belly. All good. Then, while Daddy was pulling together Nyan’s bits and pieces for school, the artist was sitting in the living room, merrily drawing trucks and rocket shops with his crayons. He picked up a brown crayon, gazed at it, and said:
“I love you, brown crayon!”
That’s our boy, ladies and gentlemen, in all his glory.