Last night my mom comes into the kitchen and sets a little rock in front of me. "Do you know what this is?" she asks.
I look at it. "Yeah, it's Nettie's little 'watermelon' rock. I mean, it's actually a piece of a glass marble I think, but we call it a rock."
She nods. "It was in my cupcake at the birthday party," she says.
I stare at the rock-marble. Then I stare at her. I remember, fuzzily, that Nettie helped me make some of the white cake batter. "Oh! She helped me make the cupcakes. She must have dropped it in...... Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Well, I didn't know if you could handle it right away," she says. "I didn't want to shake you up."
I consider this a moment. I mean, I am a little horrified and definitely shocked. But I think I could have handled it. I wonder how tenuous my sanity seems to my mom. It's strange that out of all the people at the party, and all the cupcakes (I think I made almost 100), she picked the specially-filled cupcake, and here I'm assuming that my sweet little helper didn't have any other small objects in her hands.
"I think it was God," she says.
I roll my eyes. "Nettie will be glad to have her watermelon rock back. She really likes this one..... Oh, and I'm really glad you didn't break your teeth out or eat glass shards," I say. It's only what any loving daughter would say to her mom after feeding her a half of a marble in a cupcake.
An excerpt of a conversation Nettie and I had a few weeks ago:
R: Please take those sprinkles out of your pants.
We don’t put sprinkles in our underwear.
N: We do! We DO put binkles in our underwear!
R: No, I don’t think that’s a good thing to do.
Please take the sprinkles out of your pants.
N: I willn’t! I willn’t take them out! I like them there!
R: But Momma doesn’t like them there.
N: But I do? I want to put them in there and walk around?
R: No, please give Momma the bottle.
N: I willn’t. I keep these binkles in my pants!
(runs out of the room with the sprinkles in her pants)
Also a few weeks ago at our house. After dinner, Dave is washing dishes and I am picking up the living room.
D: Sweetie, come here!
D: Come in here and look at this!
D: There's like the tiniest baby deer in the yard!
D: There's like the tiniest little fawn I've ever seen out there! You won't even believe this!
D: (pointing) Right out there under the pear tree. The mom must be someplace close. I don't know how it even got there. It looks too tiny to walk.
R: (looking out the window) No way! It's like the size of a kitten! Is that how small they are when they're born? That can't be right!
D: (both looking out window) I don't know. Maybe it's like a dwarf or pygmy or something.
R: Does that happen?
D: I don't know.
R: (going out the front door, standing on the porch) Do you think it's okay?
D: (going out the back door, with the camera) I don't know, I'm going to take a picture. (creeping closer, taking pictures.) What? What the - - (a pause while he puts down the camera) Oh my god! It's D.D.! It's effing D.D! ((D.D. is Nettie's stuffed deer toy.) Bent over double, laughing hysterically)
R: (also starts laughing hysterically, comes out into the yard) Holy crap. We're the biggest idiots in the world.
D: Yep, the biggest.
R: (looking at the camera) You got some good pictures of D.D., though.
We're keepin' it real here, people. Hope you are, too. And remember, sprinkles are a festive topping for tasty treats, not for putting in your underwear.