Just walked into my kitchen, where the first thing I noticed was my nostrils being assailed by the plasticky stench of Hershey's Mega Lipsmacker. That can't be good, I thought. Then I saw a little person holding the aforementioned Smacker in her grimy little mitt. The top looked like chocolate cottage cheese. The next thing I noticed was a special coating on the lid of the trash can--a waterproof layer of Eau de Faux Chocolat. As my eyes darted around, they encountered much more chocolatey specialness--across the walls, over the fridge door, and--most innovatively--coating the fronts AND backs of our plastic magnetized photo frames.
"What happened here?" I asked Jarrah.
She didn't hesitate.
"It was an accident."
Jarrah likes me to give physicals to her stuffed animals. I've examined Leo the Lion, T.Rex Brown and Piglet in recent days. She brings them to me, along with her doctor kit, and tells me that she thinks they need to go to the hospital. Unfortunately, I'm very good at these check-ups, so I have to do them often. A couple nights ago, Piglet appeared next to my computer, in need of some urgent care. Jarrah solemnly handed me the stethoscope and stood at a respectful distance.
"So, Piglet, what seems to be the trouble?" I asked, listening to his heart.
"Mommy," said Jarrah, placing a hand on my arm so she could break it to me gently.
"He's a toy, so he doesn't talk."
A few weeks ago, I was slathering Jarrah with lotion after her bath (she has extremely dry skin, and requires a good greasing after any contact with water) when the Eucerin fell over. It was no big deal; it's in a pump bottle; I didn't even bother to pick it up, engaged as I was with slathering her back.
"Dammock," whispered Jarrah.
"What did you say?" I asked. I couldn't have heard that right.
"Dammock," she said again, very quietly.
"What is 'dammock'?" I asked. Do. Not. Laugh. Do. Not. Laugh. Do. Not. Laugh.
"You know, it's word you say when thing-o falls over."