Though he isn't speaking yet, Noah has managed to communicate an admirably straightforward Christmas list. It does not involve toys. He wants coffee, wine, unfettered access to the stereo, the gigantic mallet I use to bang my cleaver through meat bones, and all our shelves emptied of their books. In the morning, though, it's mostly coffee.
He can be strenuous in his discontent.
I know what you're thinking. Just distract him with something else. He'll forget about your coffee. Duh, it's called "parenting." Okay, genius. Where are his eyes focused now? You know where.
NOAH: (...)
DAD: That? That's nothing.
NOAH: (...)
DAD: No, really. There's not even any coffee inside of there. Daddy's just hanging onto it.
NOAH: (...)
DAD: Because I don't want it to leave a ring on the furniture.
NOAH: (...)
DAD: Don't get smart with me, little man. I know what coasters are for. Now if you'll just avert your eyes while I have a little sip...
