Last night during dinner, Georgia dropped one of her tomatoes on the ground by accident. When it happened she looked over at me not sure what to do and I said,
"Go on, get down and pick it up."
She climbed out of her booster seat, disappeared underneath the table for 30 seconds, then climbed back up into her seat. After settling herself, she looked around her plate and said,
"Weaw my tomato go?"
"Isn't it on your place mat?" I asked.
She looked around, picked up her napkin. Nothing. We looked under her chair, I made her stand up at her seat, to look under her. Still nothing.
"Georgia, where did it go? Did you eat it?" I asked.
"NO!" She insisted, and I believed her. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said to me,
"It must have wawked away."
"It did not walk away," I told her. "What did you do with it?" I still wasn't positive that she didn't have it hidden somewhere. Although that didn't make much sense, because she loves tomatoes and wanted one to replace the missing one.
Then she said again, "It must have just wawked away!"
"Fine, Georgia, it walked away. Finish your food," I told her.
I let it go figuring I'd find it when I cleaned up later. Turns out I didn't. I honestly have no idea what the hell happened to it. Now all I have is a picture in my head of a cherry tomato, with little feet, hightailing for my back door. So maybe she was right and it did just "wawk" away. Or maybe I will find a decomposed cherry tomato underneath my washing machine years from now.
"Go on, get down and pick it up."
She climbed out of her booster seat, disappeared underneath the table for 30 seconds, then climbed back up into her seat. After settling herself, she looked around her plate and said,
"Weaw my tomato go?"
"Isn't it on your place mat?" I asked.
She looked around, picked up her napkin. Nothing. We looked under her chair, I made her stand up at her seat, to look under her. Still nothing.
"Georgia, where did it go? Did you eat it?" I asked.
"NO!" She insisted, and I believed her. Then she shrugged her shoulders and said to me,
"It must have wawked away."
"It did not walk away," I told her. "What did you do with it?" I still wasn't positive that she didn't have it hidden somewhere. Although that didn't make much sense, because she loves tomatoes and wanted one to replace the missing one.
Then she said again, "It must have just wawked away!"
"Fine, Georgia, it walked away. Finish your food," I told her.
I let it go figuring I'd find it when I cleaned up later. Turns out I didn't. I honestly have no idea what the hell happened to it. Now all I have is a picture in my head of a cherry tomato, with little feet, hightailing for my back door. So maybe she was right and it did just "wawk" away. Or maybe I will find a decomposed cherry tomato underneath my washing machine years from now.
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