Two-Year-Olds

Oh, ya gotta love those school parties. The school board/state laws/principal claim only 20 classroom minutes may be allocated to celebrating any version of dead saints, presidents, or poultry throughout the year, but these parties send home enough gift bags of crap to cover my entire kitchen counter in dollar store clutter for a week.

Of course, the one item Gracie wanted out of first grader Gavin's ten pounds of Valentine's colored sugar happened to be the one item he also wanted: the last pixy stick. I ignored his first three protests of, "Mom, Gracie's taking my pixy stick! Mommy, Gracie's opening my pixy stick! MOMMY! Gracie's eating my pixy stick!" But when he escalated into a sugar-high-pitched whine, I looked up from the Twix bar of his I was breaking into.

We both watched as Gracie, two (yet peculiarly large and strong for her age), climbed onto the counter and into the kitchen sink to get away from him. He was blocked by a strategically placed barstool, and he teared up as Gracie giggled and tipped his pixy stick up and emptied the last of the pink sugar into her mouth... bottoms up...gone.

Gavin was speechless, then turned to me and muttered, "It's like she has no conscience."