Henry has become obsessed with our neighbor’s nasty-ass trash cans. Today he toddled over to their yard wearing only a diaper and my cheetah print platform flip-flops and dragged their giant can all the way back to our house. He tried to get it up the stairs on the porch and into the house!! He’s a bunky!! (That’ a bunny and a monkey combo for those of you who don’t know).”Henry! Put that trash can down!” I said. “No, Mama!” he shouted at me, looking over his shoulder as he dragged it. “Henry! That’s so nasty!! It’s stinky and dirty!! Put it down!””Nasy? Tinky?” he replied, staring at it as it tumbled down the porch stairs yet again.
I’m not sure what goes through my head sometimes with the things I let them play with, but earlier today he got into my old belly dancing make-up case and wanted to open my pink loose-powder glitter eyeshadow. Not pressed powder, loose. In my delusional state, I opened the little jar for him (he had brought it to me with a lip brush) and he promptly started painting his face. He looked cute, but things quickly took a turn for the worse when he poured it all over his body, all over the inside of the case, and then walked all over my cherry floors leaving a trail of pink glittery footprints I could not clean up, even after an hour on my hands and knees with wet towels. I guess it could be worse. At least they’re pink and glittery!
Sometimes I get brain glitches like this. “Oh how cute!” I think, “They’re throwing flour everywhere. What wonderful tactile play.” Somehow I don’t compute that when I try to clean up that flour it will turn to glue and hours of scrubbing later, it will still be everywhere. Or the time I said, “Sure! You can play in the UPS box of peanuts!”I never got those suckers cleaned up. Months later I was still finding little whisps of styrofoam popcorn around the house.
