Yesterday we were feeding Ford some blueberry/raspberry concoction Nikki had made with a blender. After the meal, as he laughed, dark blue goo smashed across the bottom half of his face and dribbling down his chin, I realized my son looked like the living smurfpocalypse. It was as though he'd run amok in the smurf village and savagely devoured them all.
I thought this was, you know, my diseased imagination, and wasn't going to say anything. Until Nikki looked at him and said "Weird. He looks like he just killed a bunch of smurfs."
Later he giggled, and it was adorable. At the same time, in my heart I knew that sound would haunt the souls and strike terror in the hearts of The Blue for generations to come. "The horror..." they would mumble, staring into the tiny matchstick campfires on those dark and moonless nights. "The horror."