Sunday, September 1, 2013

(Little) Man at Work

If there's one thing you can count on after meals, it's that both kiddos will ask, "May I have something for dessert?" Half the time the answer is yes, half the time the answer is no. But when the answer is yes, it's usually qualified with, "You may have something small from the white bowl."

There is a plain white melamine bowl that sits on the buffet in the dining room, a repository for Halloween, Christmas and Easter candy, as well as whatever comes home from birthday parties in treat bags. When the answer is "something small from the white bowl," I can usually count on them picking out one miniature Reese's cup, or one Cadbury egg, one chocolate coin, or maybe one Tootsie Roll Pop if they're feeling brave enough to ask if that qualifies as small.

Unfortunately, there are also dentist-defying candy necklaces and packets of Fun Dip in there, and yesterday, John picked out one of the Fun Dips and asked if he could have it. I think I'm probably a typical mom, because my knee-jerk reaction is to always say "no." But if I always say no, then the thing keeps sitting in that bowl, patiently waiting for the next time it's requested and I have to, once again, say no.

So I gave in this time.

If you aren't familiar with Fun Dip, it's basically a hard sugar stick that you lick and dip into colored sugar crystals. Yeah, I know. I can't believe I let my kids eat that crap, either. Throw in there the fact that my children are literally physically incapable of eating anything without making a galactic mess, I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking. My almost two hour workout yesterday morning clearly got the better of me. I told him if he spilled anything, he needed to make sure he wiped it up with a wet cloth, and I left it at that.

Fast forward a little bit, during which time I'm half awake on the couch watching football and playing Candy Crush, and John calls out a question from the office: "Mom, how do you spell caution?"

That should've registered. I know. Kind of like this conversation yesterday morning:

Mom, where do we keep the duct tape?
John, why would you need duct tape?
Um, you know, for emergencies.
Do you have an emergency right now?
Um, no, I was just wondering.
Well, I'm not sure we have any, and if we did, I'm not sure I'd tell you where it is.
** insert small worried face here **
Ummmm, Mom, I may have a little emergency...

Turns out, the emergency was a broken piece on the Mousetrap game. Crisis averted. But back to the spelling...

I answer John's question, he says thanks, and that was it. Or at least I thought it was.

Maybe a half hour later, I get up from the couch to get something to drink in the kitchen, and come across this:

In case you can't read it, they are all hand replicas of this:

Apparently wiping up with a wet cloth left quite a bit more water on the floor than was safe. Thank goodness for Safety Inspector John. Given the choice to expend the effort to make five signs instead of just get a dry paper towel to wipe up the water, I think he may have a very bright future in government. OSHA, just send me the application, and I'll hold on to it for, say, about 16 more years.

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