…or, Shoehorns are for whacking
Ender’s two-and-a-half, and as per the When toddlers hit post, I’ve had an active-active-active two-and-a-half year-old before, so top of my list of to-do things today was to put away the house shoehorn. Here’s why:
Actors: five-year-old Doberman with the patience of a medieval Catholic saint, three-years plus four-months old Cinder, two-foot long shoe horn (Cinder’s daddy is such a dandy), frazzled mother with nine-month-old strapped to back.
Setting: Kitchen. Mother at stove stir-frying slop (incidentally, it was slop—terrible, one of the worst things I’ve ever cooked; we had peanut butter and jam sandwiches for supper instead). Mother turns around from kitchen disaster to discover three- year-old whacking dog with shoehorn.
Cinder[drops shoe horn]: Waaaaah! [collapses on floor in fetal position]
J [kneels down beside him]: Why are you crying?
C: Waaaaah! Because waaaah you waaaaah yelled yaaaaaaaah at me waaaaah…
J: Why did I yell at you?
C: Because I was hitting waaaaah Anya.
J: You know better than that. We never, ever hit Anya. We take care of Anya, we pet her, we feed her, we love her… It’s a terrible, terrible thing to do to hit her [bla bla bla].
J: Why are you crying now?
C: Because I was having so much fun hitting Anya…
From Life’s Archives, September 24, 2005—Shoehorn are bad
What’s the weapon of choice, confiscated or otherwise, at your house?