For the love of potatoes.
You know how kids are. They go through phases where “this is my my most favourite toy ever!”, and nothing else will do. L has one of those – it’s her Lamby. It looks like this guy, except it’s now a permanent shade of dirt grey and probably full of more germs and bacteria than I care to admit to.
While she hasn’t given up her Lamby (and I doubt she ever will), she has found a new love. A potato. Sadly, I wish I were referring to Mr. Potato Head, but I’m not. I’m talking a plain old dirty potato. She found one in the potato bag the other day and has had it ever since. She carries it around with her, she puts it into her pot and stirs it to make what I can only imagine is potato soup (which I then have to pretend to eat a bazillion effin’ times a day), she lays on the floor and hugs it and cuddles it, she asks to take it to bed, and she cries when we try to put it back in the potato bag.
WTF. Seriously. It’s a potato.
I fear this might end up being her first science lesson.
Will she freak out when the skin starts to get all wilted and squishy? What will she do when it starts growing eyes? I could put it in water and show her how it grows, but I think she’s too young to understand that – she just wants to cuddle the damn potato! What will she do when it starts to rot and I have to toss it? Will she notice if I replace it with another potato? If I steal it from her, does that make it a “hot potato”? Holy hell, I can’t believe this is even an issue…
I’m feeling this way about a goddamn potato. I can’t imagine what’d I’d be feeling if it were a pet!
This must be how Mr. Potato head was invented. Some freakin’ parent realized their kids pet potato was about to rot and give them diseases, so he made it into a toy. That’s got to be the only explanation.
Speaking of Mr. Potato Head, did I ever tell you all the story about how he almost murdered my Mother? That’s a whole other blog post…
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