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.