Emma has recently (meaning the last 3 months) learned to employ new torture tactics. At the first sign of any adversity (meaning anything not going her way), she screams (meaning blood curdling, horror movie ,shrieks of despair).
John has been out of town for mandatory training since last Sunday, and the children of the corn have been most disagreeable in his absence, to the point of the gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair... and eventual fantasies of joining the witness protection program on his return.
Which would be today, thank you Jesus.
Anywho, digressions aside...Emma shrieked today and I decided that the penalty, henceforth, shall be instant and immediate time out.
No pleas, no excuses... *imagine me saying, with my "talk to the hand" salute* BUP BUP BUP! Time out!
So, she sits a few feet away from me on her Little Tykes picnic table, demanding a tissue.
"Nope," I say, "we are outside, and you are in time out. I'm not going inside just to get a tissue."
"But I need a tissue..." She produces a largish boog on her pointer finger.
"Bah!" I shrink back a little , only because, OK the booger was massive, "Use nature's tissue. Here's a leaf." I pluck a leaf from the weeds nearby.
"OK," she says giggling, relishing the thought of wiping her boog on greenery.
Oh my, -I think-... what have I begun.
I start in on sharing a wondrous piece of history with my precious babe, "You know, there was a time when people didn't have toilet paper. They had to use leaves. Can you imagine that?"
I look over at Emma , just as she replies "nope", and just in time to find her wrapping a leaf around her boog finger and sticking it up her nose tissue style.
" No," I yell, "Your supposed to... I meant..." This is where I begin to try to hide my amusement and stifle hysterical laughter.
And fail miserably, as usual.
She stops, looking up at me as I try to compose myself and my words, waiting...
With the leaf still stuffed up her nose.
Some how I'm thinking that the fine art of "leaf blowing" was not included in Dr. Spock's book. Or parenting 101. But, I am proud to have taught her to appreciate the great outdoors.
Silver lining people, silver lining.