Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Precious moments

One day, L, when you ask me a question like "Did I ever make messes?," one of those leading questions that kids ask that are designed to get adults to tell them stories about themselves, one day I'll pull out a comical summary of these events, and laugh.

Tonight, though, I'm still cringing.

And sticky.

We got home later than usual, and you were very hungry and very tired. Your sister had eaten her weight in Cheerios in the car (and spilled your weight in them, too) so she was very not hungry and very not tired. We couldn't convince her to come to the table for dinner, and you didn't want to leave the play area and your sister.

Your daddy suggested I nurse you on the couch and that he'd grab an easy bowl of applesauce to feed you, and then we could take you straight up to bed. I hadn't eaten anything yet and was very hungry so I grabbed a Butterfinger mini out of the leftover Halloween candy, sat down with you and got you nicely attached. I opened the candy bar and Butterfingery goodness crumbled all over you. You're, of course, not old enough for either peanuts or chocolate, and yet you were grabbing, grabbing. There was dust all over your face, which I quickly brushed away. I tried to pick up the bigger pieces. You were still nursing. There were large chunks in your ear. I gathered them up and you were reaching for them but you were still nursing so I couldn't move to put them anywhere. I just wanted them out of your ear quickly before they triggered some horrible swelling peanut allergic reation. It's tough to explain that your one-eared kid got that way because of some Halloween candy. So I did the only thing I could do with the potentially-allergen-inducing nuggets of misplaced Butterfingery goodness - I ate them.

They tasted like earwax.

You nursed and E played and then I held you on my lap while Daddy fed you a little applesauce but you didn't really seem to want it. Then something happened. We got distracted and clearly we were off our game. I think E announced that she was about to poop. Daddy swept her up and rushed her to the potty. You had been reaching for the toy she discarded so I put you on the floor to use the opportunity of a second of freedom to throw away the Butterfinger wrapper.

We had forgotten about the applesauce.

E did her potty routine and Daddy was with her and you seemed happy alone for a moment so I was tidying up the kitchen. You were standing at the coffee table and slapping it, like you often do when you're happy, so we heard your happy sounds and didn't pay too much attention to you. We began to pay attention to you again when you started that recent new game of yours-- you began to climb on top of the coffee table. We all sort of rushed to you at once to pull you down to the carpet. So Daddy, E and I were all there together when we discovered that you hadn't just been slapping the table.

You'd been scooping applesauce out of the bowl by the fistful and slapping that on the table.

And when you'd climbed up, you'd spread it. Like butter on toast, baby, and your torso was the butter knife. Toast: the entire surface of the coffee table.

And when we pulled you off and sat you on the ground, your applesauce legs crawled it all over the carpet.

I chased you, to stop the spread, so I thought. You liked the chasing game, so you about-faced and applesauce-plopped into my lap.

One day, love, I'll tell you and laugh. Pin It

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

No waiting for me! I laughed out loud this morning and again when I just re-read this entry. On the plus side, perhaps the applesauce will help complete the removal of the table's finish that you, your brother and E have not previously destroyed. And it was, I presume, store-bought and not home-made apple sauce. To have peeled and cooked all those apples to use it as furniture not-polish would be very, very sad.
Love, Grams