Frederick Makes Himself Breakfast

As usual Frederick was the first one up this morning. Since it has been raining off and on since yesterday afternoon, it was dark and cold and neither Simon nor I was keen to get out of bed to keep an eye on Frederick as has he larked about the house. As I slipped in and out of consciousness I gave Simon shoves, clearing indicating that he ought to get up and see what Frederick was up to. After about 10 such shoves Simon mumbled, "What are you afraid he'll do?" We then heard a series or horrific coughs and gags; my first thought was that Frederick was violently vomiting all over the living room furniture. Simon trotted down and then I heard, "Oh, Christ!", which didn't ease my fears much. So I went down and found Frederick sitting calmly at the dining room table, looking a bit sheepish, Simon dashing about opening every window in the house and turning on every ceiling fan, and thick, black-gray smoke that stank of burnt tar and diesel billowing out of the kitchen. The problem, Simon then discovered, was this: someone (I will mention no names) had attempted to make himself a bit of toast this morning but, instead of using real bread, had chosen to use a piece of PLASTIC bread. And this is what that looks like:
You hear that kids do these sorts of things, but it doesn't seem real until you have kids that actually do these sorts of things. The toaster now sitting outside waiting to be taken to the trash.
SO Frederick and I went to Target (his favorite store) and picked out a bright, shiny new one. This is the fifth toaster Simon and I have had to buy since setting up house together. It's getting boring. (Don't even get me STARTED about our router problems...)
While at Target Frederick picked out a few new dinosaurs for himself. When we got home (well after noon), Thomas was sitting at the table eating his breakfast and, after noticing (with his eagle eyes) the new dinosaurs said, "So he breaks our toaster and then gets a present?" Simon retorted, "Oh, you've broken plenty of things in your time." Thomas, still doing a slow burn, said, "Name one thing." Simon couldn't come up with anything then and still can't. Thomas really was such a good boy--perhaps that's why he seethes with rage and resentment. He's a walking smoking volcano.