I tumbled slowly down my street yesterday to buy some cream for an espresso bubbling on the stove. I returned to find the chooch and pumpkin on the kitchen floor, mommy nowhere to be found. Pumpkin, all of one year old by the way, was holding an opened package of breakfast sausages in one hand, her other hand elbow deep in the package. The chooch looked up at me with his hockey helmet and explained "I jus give dat to pumpers".
"What? What the hell's going on here? Pump's, give me that" as I snatched the meat package from her hand. Clenched in the other fist was a full raw breakfast sausage. I literally wrenched the sausage from her fist which she obliterated in the process, squeezing sausage innards over her hand.
Having averted one tragedy, I turned my attention to washing the raw meat off my one year olds hands.
"I jus give dat sausage to pumpers daddy" added the chooch to further explain the breakfast chaos.
"It's okay buddy but we have to cook the animals before we take our place in the foodchain. Hey, what the hell is that?" Having actually looked at the chooch I finally noticed the half eaten raw sausage in his hand.
"Where's the other half of that? Did you eat that?"
"No, I didit."
"Did you eat it? Where is it?"
"What's happening?" asked mom as she returned from whatever guilty pleasures kept her from her carnivorous brood.
"They're eating raw sausages."
"What?"
Upon further inspection we discovered the other half of the chooch's sausage in the package so my children have yet to taste the heady bliss of raw pork.