Some Problems Have a Way of Fixing Themselves

Grant has reverted back to his baby days of surviving solely on milk. I haven't complained terribly since I was heartbroken when Nicole decided, at the ripe old age of 11 1/2 months (I took the bottle away early), that she wasn't going to be a milk drinker in any fashion -- not hot, cold, chocolate, strawberry or plain. So, to have a milk baby is a dream-come-true. However, all things in moderation. And a thirty pound boy drinking a half-gallon of milk per day is beyond moderate.

So today, after guzzling (no joke -- 8 ounces in 30 seconds -- this kid could win contests, like the one college freshmen do where they drink a gallon of milk in five minutes and see who can keep it down. Grant could beat them all, and he's not even in preschool!) two sippy cups in a row, I refused to give him another refill. In retaliation, he did this:
He showed me, didn't he?! Although I think he regretted his action immediately upon assessing the damage. He understood the sippy cup was broken, and that it was entirely his fault, so he didn't cry when I threw it in the garbage. I didn't cry either. I'm looking forward to seeing Grant eat solid food again. Maybe he and Scotty can start together. Two years apart in age, same diet -- some things will never make sense, but at least I know they'll usually, eventually, somehow get better.