I'd just gotten the big kids off to school and my youngest and I were starting our day in fine fashion. Hot coffee for me, a sippy cup for her and a quiet house for both of us. My toddler was under the table drinking her juice and happily peeling crayons—her favorite pastime. So I played one little game of Bejeweled Blitz. She was shredding and cooing in a sunbeam like an angel. So I played another game. And then she was gone.
"Honey? Honey ... where are you?"
An adorable little voice trilled back to me: "Mashing!"
I found her in the middle of the kitchen floor with an 18-pack of eggs. 17 of them had been smashed in between her fat little hands and then tossed around the room. The 18th was in her little claws. As I screamed: "NOOOOOOO! Baby — stooooopp iiiittttt!" in slow motion, I watched her smash the egg and then try to grab the yolk in mid-air to shove it in her mouth like a squishy yellow weasel treat.
Seriously, it's just "one more game." What could possibly be the harm?