sugar

Before I even start saying things that will make people laugh at me, let me just point out that Luke threw up again this morning (in his crib) and that canceled out most possible activities that we would have undertaken today. Bummer for him, bummer for me.

So we muddled through the morning, alternating between TV, books, and computer. Then he wanted to go in the kitchen and play with Dave's coffeemaker. I know this is a problem, and I know I shouldn't even indulge this for a moment, but...after a moment he decided that what he would rather do is get a spoon so that he could play with the sugar. Since that seemed like the lesser of two evils to me, the decision was made: Our new morning activity would involve sugar.

So I got him the spoon, three big bowls, a measuring cup, the shaker filled with Cheerios, and I sat it all down on the floor. I let him pour about a cup of sugar into one of the bowls and mix it all up and pour it back and forth while saying "cook." He was happy as a sugar-sifting clam for a good 15 minutes, and I have to admit that I was congratulating myself too. Good old mom, thinking of new textures for him to play with, indulging him in his favorite activities, digging and dumping. I even did some cooking myself in the meantime.

Then things took a dark turn. I noticed that there were pockets of sugar accumulating on the floor around him and on his shirt and pants. No problem, I thought, I'll just shake him off and clean up afterwards. Then he dumped the whole pile on the floor. Not good. I tried to scoop up as much as I could and then I started trying to wipe up around him. First it got all wet and sticky. Then I noticed that it was getting hard and crusty...

One of the things that amazed me the most from that point on was how quickly it degenerated from mildly annoying to truly alarming. Before I knew it I had a completely sugar-coated guy sitting on sticky sugar-glazed floor, laced with Cheerios. It was then that he got bored and decided to get up and walk away, all sugar-crinkly, into the next room. Oy. I had to grab him, pull off his clothes, and finally corral him upstairs in the bathroom sink. At this point he was crying, I was covered in sugar, and I didn't even want to think about what the kitchen floor looked like.

So. Fast-forward to three hours later. We avoided the kitchen for the rest of the morning. Once Luke went down for his nap I had to haul out the mop and the Pine-Sol and wipe down the entire kitchen... And I'm thinking that we don't pay preschools nearly enough for what they go through.