Barbecue Forks: Only For Monsters

So, I started writing this post a couple weeks ago and in the time that I've been lazy and up to no good (at least not writing the blog), things have evolved. So here's the story:

Maddy and I were downstairs finishing lunch or something and all of a sudden, I see her wandering around with the extremely large (probably only seems that way since she's so tiny) and pointy fork from my grill. Now, I don't know how it got in the house and I don't know how she got a hold of it, but all of a sudden, here's my two year old waving around a deadly weapon with Blitz and I the next possible victims of her deadly slashing attack.

In my best patient and fatherly tone (I think everyone knows what that sounds like), I said "Maddy, give Daddy the fork. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Now, we all have battles that we know we could fight and simply choose to battle for something more important. Apparently, Maddy was thinking that giving up the fork would make room for a floor sprawling temper tantrum in Target on a future date because she simply thought for a moment and then presented the fork to me as a knight would present a sword to a king (I'm just making that part up).

I said "Baby, I don't want you to hurt yourself or anyone else with this. We don't poke people or Blitz or anyone with things like this." And here's where it broke down..."just monsters."

Maddy: "Just monters?"
Daddy: "Yes. Just monsters."

This was followed by a quick scan of the room from Maddy, a sudden widening of the eyes, her finger shooting out at the end of her stiff, straight little arm and an exclamation of "monter dair!" otherwise known as "monster there."

Daddy: "Where's a monster?"
Maddy: "Dair!" (pointing to a spot behind the couch)
Daddy: (with fork armed hand over the couch) "Poke poke poke."
And so went the afternoon.

It has now evolved into imaginary forks and both of us "poke poke poke" ing the monsters whenever we see them.