Floor Cheerios

Uncle Scott took this one as Lyla was about to have a "Girls Gone Wild" moment.

When Lyla was a newborn, I swear she couldn't feel anything that touched her face. She'd have gunk, entire boogers in fact, literally on her eyeball, and she did not care. Had I not been afraid to blind her for good, I would've conducted experiments.

And last summer on the beach, how much sand did she eat, roughly? Six hundred grains, at least, and that's just when her binky would fall out of her drooling mouth into the sand, and we figured blowing it off quick was plenty fine.

Things change. Now she reaches her hand out during yogurt time to be wiped off. "EHH" is the word for "Wipe my hand, peasant!" And watch out when she gets a hair in her mouth. "Mao! Mao!" she says like a Chinese revolutionary, and you have to reach in there and extract Daisy's hair or Tulip's or whatever.

So yesterday Lyla was being naughty in her highchair by double-swiping all her Cheerios onto the floor, a big no-no.

"No no, Lyla."

"Heh."

"Okay, you're done." We're such bad disciplinarians.

Moments later from her new location on the floor, Lyla found a Cheerio on the floor and wasted no time cramming it into her mouth. Then, as Karma smiled upon us all, she shouted "MAO! MAO! MAO!" as a long hair, previously a resident of her mother's head, dangled from her mouth.

"That's what you get for eating floor Cheerios, buddy."

"I guess from now on I'll leave my Cheerios on my tray like a big girl," is what Lyla did not say.