in a restaurant, my son crawled underneath the table. As he was being both quiet AND sessile, I figured it was a blessing I ought not question.
Fifteen minutes later, he peeked his head out from under the table. Friends, I have no way to make this poetic. He was chewing gum.
Several pieces.
That we hadn't given him.
He scraped them from the bottom of the table. And just fifteen minutes earlier, Tim had commented that Carter was drinking his chocolate milk "with the determined look of a depression-era child." Perhaps Carter's just honing his foraging skills.
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