Wednesday, September 7, 2011

It happened on a Saturday...

last Saturday, the 3rd of September, to be exact.
The girls had been up from their nap for approximately 20 minutes.
I was on my 5th load of laundry for the day, and Eliza runs into the kitchen saying,
"I want shoes on mommy, please?"
Sure thing.
Happens all the time.
The girl loves her some shoes.
As I sit on the floor with her, shoe in hand, I tell her how pretty her pink toes are.
"Your toes are so pretty and pi..."

I don't finish the sentence.
I don't finish the sentence because when I lifted my sweet little precious 2-year old out of her crib just 20 minutes ago, her toes were not pink.
Of this I am sure.

I take a closer look...

(heart starts pounding...)
(mind is racing...)
Ohdear ohdear ohdear ohdear ohdear ohdear ohdear ohdear...
Where is the bottle?
How did she get it open?
How could she even reach it??
I keep the polish OHSOHIGH up on a shelf.

So as not to scare her, I put on one of my best fake, non-scary smiles and told her what a lovely job she'd done on her toes, and
would she please pretty please show me where she was when she painted them??

"Yes mommy! I was in here..."
We proceed to the living room.
My eyes are darting as fast as humanly possible from one piece of furniture to the next and all open spots of the floor, looking for a massive puddle of pink.
Where is it?
Where is it??
More panic...

I see Oliver in the room.
I ask him not-so-politely if he happened to see his tiny young seester using NAIL POLISH in the living room.
He pulls his gaze away from Good Luck Charlie just long enough to tell me that he saw her leave the bottle on the floor and that he promptly climbed up onto a chair and put said bottle on the mantel.
(which is where all contraband goes to die...
the mantel)

I'm on my hands and knees now, looking at the spot where he says she put the bottle, and there's
One miniscule little glob of pink.
I quickly wipe up the drip with my own finger and look all around for signs of the rest of it.
Not there,
or there,
or there.
I can find none.

After a quick walk-through of the rest of the house, two things are apparent:

1. There is NO pink nail polish disaster.
It hasn't been rubbed into the carpet or spilled on the hardwood or poured onto her baby seester. Only one tiny.little.droplet. went astray, and
that was it.


2. Eliza paints toenails freakishly well for a 2-year old.

Happy Wednesday friends!

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