Definitely Not A Cheerio

I'm going to come clean so to speak and just admit right up front that I am no domestic goddess. In fact my housekeeping skills could best be described as "lackadaisical". That old saying "A lick and a promise"? That about sums me up. But 9 times out of 10 the licking is done by the dog. She's handy that way.

But dog notwithstanding, with 3 children, our house tends to be liberally sprinkled with, well, stuff. Graham crackers, potato chip crumbs, various breakfast cereals, and pieces of whatever Jamie was supposed to be eating while sitting at the table all seem to be scattered about like jimmies on a cupcake.

Meredith, like most toddlers, likes to put things in her mouth. We're pretty good at making sure that she doesn't find coins, Barbie shoes, or rubber bands before we do, but actual edibles we don't worry too much about. While I realize it's not ideal for the one year old to be eating things off the floor, I'm not going to lose sleep over the random cracker. Besides, it keeps her from eating the carpet lint and dust bunnies.

She has begun to realize that there are certain things we do not want her to put in her mouth. And she has an endearing habit of showing me the things she's picked up off the floor before she eats it. It doesn't mean she actually wants me to have it. In fact she gets quite offended when I do remove one of her finds from her grubby little fist. But if she's showing me, oh, say a Cheerio that she tossed from her high chair a few hours ago, I'm not going to go ballistic prying it from her grip.

So today she was happily wandering the kitchen pulling Tupperware out of the cabinets while I kept half an eye on her as I perused my email. She has a nasty diaper rash at the moment so I was giving her some fresh air bare-bum time sans diaper.

She approached my chair with her left hand outstretched, fingers in the pincer grasp position, proclaiming her usual "Eennh" which loosely translated, means "Look Mom. Look what I have."

Still only half looking and half reading I reached out and patronizingly sing-songed at her "THANK YOU!".

The texture penetrated the synapses of my brain only slightly before the smell hit my nostrils and I processed exactly what it was she was handing me.

I am sad to admit that Taffy was quite disappointed that I did not allow her to clean that up.