The lunar new year does not agree with small kids. All that visiting and gorging on snacks is turning out to be my worst nightmare. It’s a lethal combination that makes me want to stab myself repeatedly with an ice pick. In the eye.
Because you know, when you visit people, it’s not nice to refuse their love letters, which they rolled lovingly by hand for 16 hours. Or their pineapple tarts. Or the almond cookies that their great-grandmother honed to perfection in ancient China. Or the truckload of snacks all stashed neatly into little glass jars on the dining table.
So you politely take one of each and discreetly hide some in your pocket. The rest, you give to your kids to stop them from going on a rampage from restlessness.
My son has also discovered that when he flashes his megawatt smile, he gets all the candy he wants. So he goes around collecting junk food like a squirrel when I’m not looking. And it’s becoming apparent that he’s far more enterprising than I thought.
Although it translates into two things.
The death of naps and a badass sugar high.
He’s been skipping his naps the past couple of days and I’d be fine with that if he can actually handle it. But no. He goes from Alvin the chipmunk to Chucky to Frankenstein to the Flash multiple times a day. One moment he’d be twitching and bouncing on the spot, then his eyes glaze over and he shuffles around like a zombie and then it all rounds off with the mother of all hissy fits.
Then finally, he falls asleep for 15 minutes and spends the rest of the day looking like this.
my best frankenstein face... on weed
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