This was a story my parents told frequently

It always completely cracked them up

My father ate wheaties and black coffee

At two that sounded really good to me

But my breakfast was already on the plastic table

Attached to the special seat for me

“Weesies!  Weesies! Weesies!”  I cried

My mother filled a bowl with wheaties and milk

Brought it to me in my high chair

And put it on my head


Author: skaplanolmsted

I am a writer, artist and servant to feline overlords, living in Portland, Oregon with my writer artist husband Marc Olmsted.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s