What is it about my meatballs that brings out the weird in my children?
Last night, I was making spaghetti again, just as I did a couple of weeks ago, when I heard a disturbing question. My five-year-old’s voice rang out through the house.
“You didn’t just eat that, did you Lily (actually it sounded more like Wiwy than Lily)?” Lukas asked in disgust.
I paused mid-stir of the pasta and looked toward the living room. I could see nothing of the two of them, but I knew something was amiss. I had to ask. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know, but as her mother and caregiver, I had to ask.
“What did she eat Lukas?” I called to the living room.
I heard the tell-tale sound of Lukas running to the kitchen to share something big, some huge news that only he is privy to. When he arrived in the kitchen, his eyes were wide and gigantic. He wore a look of shock on his face. His hands gestured wildly and in his sweet little-boy voice he said, “Lily just ate the play-doh!”
I bit my lip trying to not to smile at his slight overreaction over the play-doh. “I guess that’s why it’s nontoxic,” I muttered to myself. Then louder, “Don’t worry about it, Buddy. It won’t hurt her.”
Soon Lily was toddling in to join the fun in the kitchen. She had a disgusted look on her face and she was attempting to swallow the last bit of purple play-doh she’d shoved in her mouth on a whim.
“That didn’t taste very good, did it?” I said to her, knowing the answer. Looking down at her, my mind flashed to images of my younger brother, CB, who also ate play-doh as a child. Though he did it regularly and for shock-value I think.
All in all, an interesting evening.