Adventures in parenting

While trying to excitedly tear a crust of bread to get at the Marmite thereon, the has just managed to slip and deliver a perfect backhand to his beaker of milk. There’s now a trail of milk that stretches from him, across the table, over my right arm, along the floor, over ‘s work bag, up the side of the arm chair, over the cushion, and down the other side – a good three metres.

We’re either going to have to invest in tennis lessons, or some sort of magnetic device for holding the beaker down.

Edited to add: he’s just done it *again*

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