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Daughter of Ishmael by Diane Stringam Tolley

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by Diane Stringam Tolley

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Thursday, November 19, 2015

Who Threw Goo?

There is a toddler golden rule:
Silence is golden, except when you have a toddler. Then it’s suspicious.
I have a new one:
If a toddler is giggling, it could go either way . . .
Our family is large.
Because of that, food is always purchased in quantity.
A little aside here . . . Our youngest daughter had moved out on her own for the first time and was grocery shopping with her roommates. She made a momentous discovery. One that she had to phone home to tell her mother about. “Mom! Did you know that peanut butter and Miracle Whip come in little jars? Really! I had to buy them. They were so cute!”
But I digress . . .
True to form, we purchase many things by the restaurant-sized pail.
There is one drawback.
Buying in quantity isn’t always practical when said substance needs to be refrigerated.
Unless one also possesses a restaurant-sized fridge.
Which we don’t.
For that reason, condiments are quite often stored in the garage. In the sun room. Or right outside, depending on the cycle of the Great Canadian Weather at that particular moment.
Our house has another option. When it was built, the contractor neglected to insulate the floor under the back kitchen entrance.
In winter, that floor gets . . . a tad chilly.
Perfect for extra food storage.
And right off the kitchen.
It was in this area that I had placed a bucket (see above) of ranch dressing.
Okay, yes, it was within perfect reach of Grandson #3 (hereinafter known as GS3), but the lid was on.
And let’s face it, even grandma needed help getting that lid off.
I’ve finally gotten to my story . . .
The family was over.
Dinner was done and the older kids had gone downstairs to play.
The adults and those deemed too young for the hijinks of the older crowd were in the front room.
Visiting/crawling about. Maybe I should clarify. The adults were visiting. The babies were crawling about.
GS3 had disappeared into the kitchen.
We weren’t concerned. Everything was buttoneddown/closed/outofreach.
He was there for some minutes.
Then the giggling started.
A giggling toddler is a happy toddler is a good sign. Right?
Ummm . . .
A few minutes later, his mother went in to check on him.
“Uh-oh!”
Mom-speak for, “We’ve just set our levels to def-con one!”
I hurried in.
The walls (and, indeed, every available surface of the back entrance) were heavily spotted in thick, white goo.
GS3 had somehow wrenched the lid off that pail of soppy, white substance. Dunked his little fingers.
Then flung them around.
Numerous times.
Thus, the giggle.
Mom took the toddler for a needed cleaning and Grandma started in on the mess.
I will say this. The coating proclivity of Ranch dressing has never been fully explored. Someone should get a grant and do a study. Preferably a parent . . .
Also: If anyone needs help removing those impossible-to-remove lids, I have a toddler who can help.


5 comments:

  1. I do need the services of that toddler. Often.
    Silence I knew was ominous. I will add giggles to my list of potentially scary sounds...

    ReplyDelete
  2. I'll hire him after EC has all her lids removed for her :)

    I can just picture the mess. And I'm really glad I don't have to do any more than picture it, such as clean it up ... I imagine it took awhile.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Laughing here, but oh dear, ranch dressing on everything except food.
    I'm guessing you got it off all surfaces, and hope it didn't stain.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh Diane - I think I would have voluteered to clean up the toddler, and let his mother clean the kitchen. You got the short end of the straw there, I think!
    I love the photo - the "hold him by the arms so no more damage can be done" pose brought back many memories!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Ha! Susan must have forgotten what cleaning up a toddler entails! I think mom got the short end of the stick haha! That happened when the daughter was a toddler. Her and her two cousins and a whole birthday cake. I dread that with the twins they just turned one...oh who am I kidding!

    ReplyDelete

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Diane was born and raised on one of the last of the great old Southern Alberta ranches. A way of life that is fast disappearing now. Through her memories and stories, she keeps it alive. And even, at times, accurate . . .

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