Maple Syrup Mohawk

Per Kelly's request, I made a fat stack of fine cinnamon kissed french toast.  I cut the slices in squares for Beckett, parallelograms for Kelly, and triangles for Rhys. With two cups of strong brew nudging me into the swing of things, I plated the toast with a shallow pool of dark amber maple syrup and fat, fresh strawberries.  Kelly finished first and slipped away from the table to inspect a book. As I turned to the sink to fill the kettle for a second pot of coffee, Beckett grabbed Kelly's plate and inexplicably dumped remaining puddle of maple syrup on his head.  Rather than worry about the sticky mess, I gave Beckett a maple syrup Mohawk, took some pics, and handed him off to Catherine for a shampoo and buff.  Some days, we are nothing more than the parental equivalent to the zoo keepers assigned to monitor the mayhem and manage the mess on monkey island.