The kids are being unusually sweet and cooperative this morning, as I bribed them with homemade (Betty Crocker made them, anyway, in her factory home in Minneapolis) cloyingly sweet and fluffy cinnamon muffins. There are no health benefits; in fact, no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever, but my kids are grateful, and “mmmmm!!!”-ing, and not fighting at the moment.
Abby called me over to the rocking chair to perform emergency surgery on the cat, whose eyebrow area is evidently irresistible to microscopic, springtime, New England area-based ticks. Abby held the cat on her lap while I hunted down the tweezers.
Abby: Poor kitty! Do you want a cinnamon muffin?
Hannah: DON’T, Abby, that will make him throw up.
Abby: He needs a distraction so Mom doesn’t poke his eye out.
Hannah: I remember once when I was a baby, I had two ticks in my ear. I pulled them out myself, and saved my life.
Abby: That was earwax, stupid.
UPDATE: Surgery successful. Tick flushed. Kids fighting, as the memory of cinnamony deliciousness wears off and the sugar kicks in.