This morning Magoo emerged from his room with a large stuffed turtle tucked under his arm, rather than the small mangy dog he’s been carrying around for weeks as his “baby.”
“This is my new baby,” he announced.
“Oh really? What happened to your old baby?”
“He never LISTENS to me. This baby LISTENS to me so he’s my new baby now.”
I think this is good criteria for choosing a baby. As she’s drooling in the Bjorn and I’m expounding my great treasures of knowledge, is the baby really listening? Well if not… You never know who I’ll end up with the next morning. It may be a turtle or a purple frog but a baby who doesn’t listen doesn’t last very long in this household.
So he took his baby to church where he cuddled him, tossed him around and eventually dropped him on the floor. I didn’t see much talking or listening and I wondered how long the relationship would last.
Laylee retrieved the wide-eyed turtle infant from the ground and began moving it around in a pattern resembling play but which did not appear enjoyable in any way. And then she sneezed.
I know she sneezed because I heard the sound next to me and a moment later she was holding the turtle 3 inches from my face with a guilty, teeth-baring grin/grimace on her face. There was a largish boogie on the turtle.
Magoo hadn’t noticed the desecration yet and she whispered, “What should I DO!?”
I searched my bag in vain for tissues or wipes and then told her quietly to take the turtle to the bathroom and wipe him down with a damp paper towel. This seemed to please her, the idea of having any business important enough to excuse her from a church meeting giving an inexplicable maturity and importance to her very being. As she marched with dignity from the room, Magoo noticed the baby-napping that had just occurred.
“Where’s she taking my BABY!?”
“Your baby has a boogie on his head and she’s gone to clean it off,” I whispered.
At this point, please ask me how much I had gotten out of the church meeting? Not a lot. I did have a renewed testimony of baby wipes, even when your human babies are past the point of diaperhood but other than that, it had been a pretty unfulfilling service.
And Magoo seemed strangely pleased over the drama with his baby. Of course he longed for his safe return, but a BOOGIE ON HIS HEAD?! That was obviously scandalous and cool in a way that only a 3 or 13-year-old boy can truly appreciate.
5 minutes passed.
Laylee returned with the turtle, holding it boog-first towards me, the grimace still on her face.
“In the bathroom there was a sign that said ”˜DO NOT something-I-couldn’t-read.’ I was worried that I wasn’t allowed to wash the boogie off his head.”
How, oh how did I keep a straight face as I told my semi-literate daughter that I was pretty sure, like 100% sure, that the sign did not say, “DO NOT WIPE BOOGIES OFF THE HEADS OF STUFFED BABY TURTLES IN THIS BATHROOM?”
“Are you sure?”
I’m pleased to say that the baby has now been cleansed and his listening skills are as good as ever. Perhaps better.