This past weekend we went camping. The last night, my very dear husband was roasting a 1/2 a marshmellow because we were out of Hershey bars, and were putting the marshmallows between Chips Ahoy cookies, and a 1/2 marshmallow is a much better ratio.
So, his marshmallow catches on fire - it happens - and so he starts flinging the stick back and forth, instead of just blowing it out like a normal person. And flings it across the campfire landing on my left shoulder. Fortunately only a small burn since it mostly hit my t-shirt.
But, our nearly 3-yo daughter was very impressed with the subsequent racous laughter and her father chasing me around with a camera while I insisted that it really did hurt....
So much so, that a couple days later, back at home, she said the following to him in the morning before he dropped her off at daycare:
"Dadder do you remember when we were camping you winged a flying maschmallow at mommy....that was bad that was bad daddy"
Which brings us to the new knicknames: Dadder and Mommer....funny
