28 May 2009

No en la boca!

I hear a rhythmic squeaking coming from the backseat, like the sound of a wet finger rubbing on a window pane.

Eee er eee er eee er.

At the stop light, I turn around and look. Zora has her blue Croc in her mouth. Apparently teeth on PCCR is a delightful sound.

Eee er eee er eee er.

"Zora!" I admonish. "No en la boca! Ba! Yuck!" She squeaks once more and is silent.

Later that day, I have to tell her not to eat the following:
  • The pulpy, red berries the Hawthorne tree deposits in our parking lot.
  • A rock.
  • A petrified Goldfish cracker from under her carseat.
  • Fluorescent pink Play-dough ("Cheese!," she exclaims before stuffing it into her mouth)
  • A noo noo (noodle) that went overboard and landed on the carpet during dinner.
And I thought this everything-goes-in-the-mouth-stage was over. Sigh.


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