Wit and Wisdom - Wormy Edition

Today, as K and I were driving on the beltway we were searching for UPS and FedEx trucks. This is her latest thing. She is fascinated by the delivery trucks. Maybe it's her future calling or just her hope that the trucks all contain Amazon boxes filled with princess paraphernalia just waiting to be delivered to her doorstep. Regardless, that's what we were doing until she spotted what she thought was a garbage truck.

"Look Mama, a trash truck!"

"No baby. That's a sewage removal truck."

"Huh?"

...hmm, I'll tread lightly on this one, knowing her drain issues.

"Well, it's a truck that takes the stuff people put down the drains, like the potty. It takes it away to be cleaned," I tell her.

"So it comes why we're sleeping?"

Like its Santa or the Easter Bunny.

"No. It doesn't come to our house. We live in the city. It comes to houses where the people live in the country."

"Like Elmo's house?"

I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but clearly she doesn't watch enough tv.

"No baby. Elmo lives in the city on Seasame Street. You know Slimy's cousin Squirmy? Remember? He lives in the country."

Laughing a bit, she says "Yeah, but he lives in an apple. And worms don't have potties."

"No? Why not?"

"Because Mama. Worms don't have vaginas or bums or penises."

So there you have it. Now you know.

Her innocence will believe Slimy, from Oscar the Grouch's trash can, has a cousin who lives in an apple in the country. But the idea that he could have a potty is entirely too far fetched for her.

Not The Watermelon!

A few weeks back I wrote about K's issue with the garbage disposal.

Yes...I'm sad to say, it's still going on. Daily. Hourly, even. She's still freaking out about food scraps going into the dreaded disposal.

This time, it came to me out of nowhere.

We had been playing outside. Seeing it was getting late, I suggested we come in and get ready for dinner. I pulled the stool up to the kitchen sink and K climbed up to wash her hands. I turned the water on and she started rinsing her hands.

I followed her eyes as she watched the water go down the drain and then, dun dun dun, she saw it.

"Not the watermelon!!" she wailed. "Get it out, Mama! You have to! Pleeease, Mama!"

She had watermelon with her lunch. But, since it had started to turn slimy she refused to eat it. I avoided the post lunch meltdown by just setting the bowl of spoiled watermelon on the counter. I waited until later when she was "napping" to clean up the dishes. I must have forgotten to turn on the disposal.

I will not make that mistake again. I'm learning as we go.

There it sat. Down in sink purgatory. Just waiting to be pulverized.

And of course...she would see it.

Darth Vader's been missing for three days now, and she can't seem to find him. But she has no problem spotting three cubes of watermelon deep down in the depths of the disposal.

Don't Pour it Down the Drain

A few months ago, I blogged about K's fear of drains. Since it's a popular post, I thought my fine readers deserved an update.

K is still quite fearful of her hair being sucked down the drain. She won't use the big potty without a full-blown tantrum of epic proportions. And, she still flips her head over daily to ask about the status of her hair growth. She's a ball of laughs. Yet, she makes me want to rip my hair out and force her to watch it be flushed down the toilet.

I'd like to brief you on the drain fear manifestation. She's learned about the garbage disposal.

Dear God, why did I teach her about it?! Why?? When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?!

Now, on a daily basis, K's in the kitchen defending the rights of table scraps and spoiled food. It started right after a stomach virus infectected my house. Our fridge was full of produce, yet none of us could eat for days. Strawberries molded and had to be disposed of. K watched as strawberry after strawberry was stuffed down the garbage disposal. To her, I think it sounded like this...

No!! Please don't! We promise to be good. Ahh!! Oh my gosh, please NO! Don't put me in there!! NOOO!

She has quite the imagination. Sweet, huh.

Which brings me to today, she wanted to make hot chocolate. And even though it will be 60 degrees today, I agreed. I bought it thinking after playing all morning in the snow, she would love to come in and warm up with yummy, hot chocolate (look at me being all June Cleaver like.) Except, it hasn't really snowed. And it doesn't appear it's going to. So, if she wants to try hot chocolate for the first time on a balmy February day, that's fine with me.

We made the drink and it was all well and good, until she drank it. I guess I didn't make her wait long enough, and she's clueless about drinking hot drinks. Two gulps at two different times, both spit out all over the table and herself. Hot chocolate fun over, commence tantrum.

K: I'm not drinking anymore. I don't want it. I don't like it. You drink it.

Me: Fine. Don't drink it. But I'm not drinking anymore.

K: You have to! Don't put it in the sink! No Mama, NO! Save it for Papa. No, Mama!

Me: K, I'm not saving it for Papa. I'll take care of it.

Now, at this point, K is sobbing, uncontrollably. Over hot chocolate. At the mere thought of it being poured down the drain.

K: Mama! Pouring it down the drain is NOT taking care of it!! Please, Mama, please! Take care of it! Just take care of it!

I am seriously beside myself. I'm just standing there in awe of the meltdown. I'm not even sure what to say or do. She's serious.

K: Hurry, Mama! It's getting cold. Please! Put it in a different cup and put a lid on it. Mama! Please! Put it in the cabinet. Put it up high, up here, so it's not near the cold! ...sob, sob... Please, Mama, just do it! Please!! Don't put it in the sink! No! NO!! Please, Mama!

I'm not even sure where to go from here. Maybe the psychiatrists office for her...or me? All I know, I'm really freakin glad I didn't give up alcohol.