Love, Kellogg-style

For all my failings as a father, I can rest easy in my status as a Paper Folder Extraordinaire. At least a few times every week, Abbey will come bouncing up to me with a sheet of printer paper that she pilfered from Grandma's office, begging me to make her a paper airplane, or an origami bird, or some such. None of it's terribly complicated, but it's a valuable skill in a pair of 7-year-old brown eyes.

One of her favorites is the fortune teller. You know the ones: "Pick a color. *flip, flip, flip* Now, pick a number. *flap, flap, flap, flap* Now another number. *flippity-flip-flap*" And so on. They're easy as all get-out to fold, of course, but then I have to write the fortunes, too. I do have great fun with them, though, as I get rather silly: "You will win a million dollars, and then get kissed by a moose," and the like.

So this morning, Abbey comes up to me as I'm watching TV, holding her most recent Daddy-crafted fortune teller, asking if she can tell me my fortune. I go through all the selections, she goes through all the flipping, and she reads: "You will fall in love with a box of cereal."

She didn't miss a beat. "Hold on, I'll go get one." She flounces off with great intent, then flounces back, a half-empty box of Boo Berry in hand, which she places in front of me.

"Dad," she says, "meet Mimi."