Finally here.  I’ve been meaning to post ALL DAY!  Actually I meant to post yesterday but it didn’t happen.  And then it didn’t happen and didn’t happen and didn’t happen.  Oh, and did I mention that it is swelteringly hot here?  It’s like you’re already having trouble getting your shit together and then you’re all wilty on top of it. (Nobody likes to be wilty.)

I’ve discovered a new talent. Since it’s been so hot Chance has been a bit reluctant to eat solid food.  He’s great with the smoothies, icies, drinks of all kinds… but he just hasn’t been as interested in other foods.  He also has recently taken up with the ol’ “drop and watch”.  You know, where they drop the food and then watch it bounce or roll or splat on the floor.  (Yeah, I didn’t think I had to explain that either.)  Especially with peas.  Peas are super duper entertaining (groan with me now).

OK. So I guess this wouldn’t be such a big deal if I had him sitting in his high chair, in the linoleum-floored kitchen, to eat his meals.  Except I don’t.  Under advice from our pediatrician she mentioned just putting the food out and letting him eat at will.  Toddlers like to roam, you know. Like little grazers: snack snack, play, snack. (It’s this whole preventing obesity / anti-power struggle with early eaters thing.)  And since me and Keen like to eat in the living room (I know), in front of the TV (I know, I know!), on the couch and at the coffee table (not even proper chairs) well… we let Chance do the same.  (I so totally get that I’m probably setting myself up for a slew of problems later on. Eventually we will eat dinner at the table. sometime.)

But here’s where it gets difficult.  Chance is playing the drop and watch on a patterned rug.  With lots of colors and… patterns.  So, like, can I see those peas?  No.

Can I find the peas?  Oh yes.  My feet have become highly attuned to the feel of discarded food.  They are so sensitive that with the merest brush of contact I can tell the difference between hotdog and bologna, peas and corn, graham cracker and cheerio, cheese even – cheddar or jack. I can even estimate how long it’s been sitting on the floor from its state of softening/stiffening/ability to squirm away.  Scientists should come calibrate instruments off my frickin’ feet (and maybe look for new bacteria).  And the saddest part? I’ve gotten so good at identifying the food I don’t even grind it into the carpet.  As soon as I feel a little texture, a little smooshing, my foot jerks up reflexively and I swoop down to pick it up.  (It’s SO Pavlovian!)

I figure I can rent out my services.  You know, after hours in various dimly-lit establishments, clubs, dinner parties – after the meal but before the morning clean-up crew.  I can walk around in my bare feet and not only find but identify all the foodstuffs spilled on the floor. Get to those potential staining elements first.  “Um, guys? Berries over here!… Tomato sauce. I’ve found tomato sauce.”

Yes, it’s gross but I’ll be charging a hefty fee.   This will definitely be added to the resume.            

         – the weirdgirl