They say to pump perfume spray into the air and gently brush your body into its mist. Not me. After triggering a drizzle, I jumped into the air like a knobby-kneed gazelle, almost face-planting myself onto the bathroom’s cold tile. I guess what I’m asking is, is smelling pleasant worth a sprained ankle?
Speaking of scents, I placed the choking hazard Clean Linen Febreze under the sink in the office’s bathroom. In its place is Wildflower Poo-Pouri. My secret fear; will the poopers that use the upstairs bathroom know to spray before they go?
Oh, how silly my problems are today.
Three-year-old Evelyn placed her fist before me and said, “Open the lid.” Assuming she meant her bent thumb, I pulled at it. With her thumb up, she said, “Stick your finger in.” So I placed my pointer finger in the hole her curved fingers created. “Wiggle it around.” So I did. “Now take it out.” Again, I did. “Close the lid.” I flipped her up thumb, down. Then she said, “Thank you for cleaning my potty.”
Now. This is funny on multiple levels. One, where did she learn this?! After Dave and I individually giggled ourselves out, we tried guessing, “Grandma?” He asked. I said, “Zeke or Evy from class?”
The problem is our guesses made her parrot back the names, so we don’t have an answer. But also, she nailed it. She’d seen, practiced, and participated in this toilet-scrubbing finger trick, god knows how many times. The flawless execution was similar to a play on opening night after daily year-long rehearsals.
Juggling the need to write client’s progress notes with a whining toddler, and a Kraken game, and I’m struggling to write. That’s ok. There’s always tomorrow.
Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 