|
2/3/1999 This, Too, Shall Pass(Not for the Squeamish)Stephen, who once stuck a raisin up his nose, has succeeded in topping that feat. Driving to pick up Daniel yesterday, I heard a sudden shriek from the back seat, "My marble!" "What marble?" "The marble in my mouth." "Take the marble out of your mouth!" "I can't! It's gone!" Eventually we established that the marble was: 1) small and green; 2) purloined by Stephen from Daniel's box of treasures; 3) tucked by Stephen in his mouth when he needed both hands free; and 4) now en route through Stephen's digestive tract. Today I had the fun task of checking to be sure he passed the marble. I told him to use the potty chair instead of the toilet. He had a bowel movement this morning, but I didn't see the marble in it. Thinking it might be, well, coated, I used the cat litter scoop to kind of mash the poop around in the potty chair, all the while mentally adding this moment to my list of "Things I Never Imagined I Would End Up Doing Back When I Graduated from Wellesley." It wasn't there. But it did turn up this afternoon. Cleaned, disinfected in alcohol, it sits in the curio cabinet, waiting for the moment many years from now when we can embarrass Stephen by telling the story to his girlfriend. Yesterday Tab brought home a bag of kids' clothes from his co-worker, Janet, who has a 6-year-old boy. The bag was sitting on the love seat where it was joined this afternoon by another bag of clothes dropped off by Mr. DiMatteo. The DiMatteos are Stephanie's friends. They have grandsons slightly older than Daniel and have passed on boys' clothes to us before. I didn't have a chance to sort through the bags, but I should have had the foresight to hide them upstairs before Stephanie spotted them. She came over tonight to watch the children while Tab and I went out to a movie, and as soon as she arrived she asked where the clothes had come from. She sniffed when I told her they were from Janet and the DiMatteos. She declared, "I'm going to have to tell the DiMatteos to stop doing this because I don't like the kind of clothes their grandsons wear." Stephanie, you see, has very decided opinions about appropriate children's clothing. She favors Carter's childrenswear in greys and solid primary colors. Sometimes she buys little-old-man-style checked pants, but most of the stuff she gets for they boys is nice, if a tad boring. I don't object to her buying clothes for her grandsons if she wants--in fact, I'm grateful--but I don't like her appointing herself Supreme Arbiter of Taste. Daniel's favorite clothes are his Godzilla shirt, Batman shirt, and Toy Story sleeper, items that came from my mother, Janet, and the DiMatteos, respectively. I told her not to say anything to the DiMatteos because we like getting clothes from them. She grimaced but dropped the subject. As soon as she was distracted in the kitchen getting the twins ready for dinner, I sneaked upstairs and hid the bags in the attic. Maybe she'll forget about them if they are out of sight. Tomorrow I will call Mrs. DiMatteo and thank her effusively to counteract Stephanie's lack of tact, should she remember to call.
|