Yesterday I was putting in my contact lenses, when Clara reached over the counter and nabbed my toothbrush.
"Brush teeth, Mommy!" I turned in time to see her little Pull-up-covered bottom disappearing down the hallway. Later I would find my toothbrush underneath Wilbur. He saw fit to nap on it. I can't imagine it was very comfortable. Sort of the way having furry teeth because someone took your toothbrush is uncomfortable.
After she did away with my toothbrush, Clara came running back into the bathroom. She expertly finagled her hand past the toddler-proofing on the top drawer under the sink and wiggled it around to find a treasure. Out came a pair of tweezers. She carefully pointed the ends at her tiny chin and scrunched up her face in concentration.
"Are you tweezing your crone hairs?" I asked.
"Yes, Mommy."
After a moment, she tossed the tweezers on the floor. She pressed a little hand against one of her eyes.
"Oh! 'ontact yens is stuck!"
"You don't wear contact lenses," I pointed out.
"Yes, Mommy! My 'ontact yens is stuck!"
"Okay, but this stuff is expensive, so only a tiny bit," I replied, squirting a few drops of contact lens saline solution into her little palm. She slapped it against her closed eye like a man slapping aftershave on his face.
Later, while we were sitting in the rocking chair in her room, reading stories, I noticed she had a hang nail on one of her toes. I casually reached for it and pulled it off before she could react. (Had I gone for the nail clippers, she would have had time to mount a defensive, or at least to collect enough air in her lungs for a piercing scream of indignation).
She saw the hang nail in my fingers.
"It's a booger, Mom."
"It's not a booger, it's a hangnail," I replied. "It came from your toe, so how can it be a booger?"
"It's a booger," she said with certainty, as I enclosed it in a Kleenex.
The mailman came as we were piling bags of leaves in the back of the SUV to take to the landfill for recycling. He handed the mail directly to Clara. She scrutinized him with great suspicion and then, clutching the mail possessively in her arms, ran to the back of the garage. "It's mine," she muttered.
Before leaving for the landfill, I made her a grilled cheese with ham and spinach for lunch. While I was cooking, she ripped open one of the letters, a survey of employee satisfaction from my work. I had already completed the survey online, so I wasn't unduly worried that Clara was manhandling the paper version. Inside was a blue envelope in which to return the survey.
Clara carefully opened the blue envelope and looked inside.
"It's dark in dair," she said.
"I think what you're trying to say is that it's empty," I said.
"Yep. Is empty."
I reached for a slice of bread to butter and saw her little fingers sneaking over the top of the counter. The little fingers felt around until she found the package of deli ham. She pulled four slices over the counter. I guessed what she was doing and intervened.
"You may not put deli ham in the envelope."
"YES! Put it in dair!"
"We do not put deli ham in envelopes because it makes the ham taste bad."
"No! No taste bad! Put in dair! Mommy!"
"Let's find something else to put in there. How about a balloon?"
I sighed with relief as she accepted my offer.
No comments:
Post a Comment