I make mistakes.

We were sitting around having a lazy Sunday morning. Fiona hadn’t eaten yet, so I asked if she wanted Cheerios. She did. I said, “Okay, come sit at the table.”

“No.”

“Okay, if you want to stay next to Daddy on the couch you can, but you can’t have milk.”

“I need spoon.” She sits nestled in blankets next to her Daddy.

“No, Baby, just eat them with your fingers.”  I’m enjoying surfing the Internet without anyone trying to climb in my lap or touch me. I am being actively lazy. It takes determination for me to be lazy in my house.

“No.” She says, just to be defiant.

“Fine,” I say, exasperated, “Eat them with your nose.” (See, I told you I make mistakes.)

And that was the end of that.

For about fifteen minutes.

She ran over to me crying, “My nose! It hurts! I need a tissue.”

I reach out with a tissue and squeeze her nose.

“AAAAAH!” She yells, “My nose! It hurts!”

Now I’m concerned, a glimmering awareness is dawning. I tip her head back, “Let me look.”  I can’t see any reason for her nose to hurt. I can’t see any Cheerios, though I am deeply suspicious that there is one in there.

“My nose hurts!” She says again in a panicked voice.

“Why?” I say, worried that I know. “Why does your nose hurt?”

“Cheerio.” She replies.

“You put a Cheerio in your nose?” I verify. I sound surprised to my own ears. I am amused that I’m surprised, actually. It was obvious that this is what would happen, and it is, in point of fact, my own idea.

“Yeah.” She says sadly.

I laugh just a little. She glares at me.

I go upstairs, get the nasal saline that we use when she’s sick and spray a little into her nose. We wait a moment for the saline to soften the Cheerio, then get a tissue. A few moments later the offending Cheerio is out of her nose.

“That’s better.” She says and runs to rejoin her daddy on the couch. Peace and sanity are restored to our quiet Sunday.

My daughter is very literal. I make mistakes. Cheerios are evil.

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