You ever see that shirt with the funny chocolate quote? Drop the chocolate and noboby gets hurt? Destructo feels exactly that way about his pacifier, affectionately named Me Me, in our household. Today I do my best imitation of June Cleaver, taking Destructo in my arms and tenderly and patiently telling him we need to get rid of the Me Me. It's time--he's three years old now.
"I will get you something to replace it," I say softly, with heavily, practiced sincerity. "Anything. What would you like me to get?"
He looks at me with Big, Sad, Brown eyes. "A Me Me," he says forlornly.
You know the eyes, the ones that melt ice in the Antartica. The very ones that keep you up at night, hoping they can make all the right decisions, every day in life, all the way up to a stay in the White House. Those brown eyes are lethal. Utlimately, I cave and give him the me me, because I am really not sure who is more saddened by the thought of life with no pacifier--Destructo or his mom and dad.
