There are a lot of things I want to write about that are germane to the actual topic of my blog- but it seems that the real world gets in the way.
Case in point- last night. I was gathering things in the kitchen to bring to work the next day when I hear Gianluca’s little feet prancing across the wood floor towards me. He has one of his Muppets plates that he took out of the drawer earlier and he is extending his little arms towards me commanding in a sweet voice, “Momma, eat’. I look down at the plate and it appears to be covered in a viscous substance that looks like cola. I inspect further. The substance appears to be rolling very slowly off the plate, it cannot be soda.
Then is hits me. My olfactory system is overrun with the sickeningly sweet odor of maple syrup.
The plate is covered. His shirt is covered. His hands are stuck to the plate.
HOLY SHIT WHERE ELSE HAS HE BEEN?!
As indicated above, my son prances. He does not walk. He does not run. He enjoys the ease of skipping and hopping while he happily chatters about his internal musings. Therefore the trajectory of syrup is a multitude of twists and turns across the wood floors that eventually culminates in a large puddle on our sofa. I imagine it is how Columbus took hit boat off course and therefore I am rationalizing he simply could not walk in a straight line because he is Italian.
Like a maniac I am grabbing baby wipes to contain the great Canadian spill of 2013 before Brian comes out of the office from working. Within seconds I hear the pantry door open and shut. When I look up I see the child has shut himself in the pantry. I see the light click on under the door frame. DAMNIT HE IS TOUCHING THE WALLS NOW. I run over there and he runs out with a box of Ziploc bags. Now I am chasing prancer while he throws baggies everywhere and our feet are sticking with each step. I muster the bags away. Now he is screaming because I have a child in one hand and cleaning with the other.
After ten minutes of nonstop screaming about how the bags were his, Brian departs from his work, basically to see what the bloody hell is going down. Then he asks what that smell is.
Yeah. It is syrup.
Thank the baby Jesus we have a leather couch.
I get Gianluca upstairs and essentially scrub him of all sugary goodness. As is customary, he gets out of the tub and we dry off and then I tell him to meet Momma in her room. He takes off like a rocket with his little monsters in his hand from his bath.
While I am putting the diaper on the bed to get him prepped for sleep I hear the toilet flush in the other room. Then I hear- ‘YEAAAAAH I DID IT’.
At this point I am essentially saying ‘holy f*ck’, because I know he had little plastic monster that were larger than that hole.
He trods out and says, ‘I pooped!!!’.
Please don’t let him fool you. He isn’t potty trained.
By grace of God there is nothing in the toilet bowl when I get in there. But now Gianluca figured out how to flush and this is a really amazing thing. It must be, because he did it about four more times. In succession.
Albeit extremely annoying, but ultimately it does not bother me. Somewhere in his creative little mind he had a great idea. Imagine if we were all kids again and the simplicity of flushing the toilet brought us copious amounts of joy or sitting in the pantry was like a treasure hunt. I did not get to write about my Oribe product that has changed my life or my new hair place, but the night ended happy and it ended with me getting right in Brian’s face again telling him we are his family and he is so lucky to have us.