Sparkles

For the last three weeks, Brent has been on a poptart kick. I let him have one or two for breakfast, a couple times a week. This really isn't pertinent information, but for background, we can assume that he's familiar with poptarts. All of the ones he's eaten are strawberry, and have come from the same box.

In the back seat this morning, while I'm traversing traffic, I hear him let out a sudden, high pitched scream. I look in the rear view mirror, and try to think of a place to pull over. He's holding out the last two bites of his poptart and shrieking: "THERE'S SPARKLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I ask him what he means, which probably came out as "BRENT!!! WHAT are you TALKING ABOUT????" since adrenalin has forced my stomach into my throat and I'm mad at the non-emergency screaming.

He looks at the poptart, then at me, then wipes his tears and finishes it.

I briefly wonder how much a skinny three year old goes for on the black market, then go back to driving.