I’m at the library again, trying to work (surprise! I really am WORKING for once!) and there’s a little kid, maybe 3, following his mother, whispering very loudly, “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?” and she’s doing her best to ignore him. I watched as she went up one aisle and down another, keeping one eye on him as she tried hard to not throttle him (face it, we’ve all had those days with our kids; this appeared to be one of them.) Just as she was about to lose it—she took that deep sigh with her eyes closed, the one that says “Be quiet or I am going to sit on the floor and start crying because I cannot take another moment of your nonstop chatter and incessant demands even though I love you more than life itself please please please SHUT UP!”—he clasped his little hands to his chest and blurted out “if I don’t get to get a book today I AM GOING TO DIE!”

Well now, we can’t have a child just up and croaking in the Vacaville library now, can we?

And no, I did not help the situation any by laughing. But I think he got his book...

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