mulchI have never thought Max was neat.  In fact, I’d attribute a good 75% of the general filth and mess in my house to her.  However, sometimes she can be really particular about how things must go.

When I arrived at the daycare, her class was out on the playground.  This is always bad timing on my part because prying her off of the playground is a real challenge.  As I went through the fence, I saw her in her darling little dress walking around the playset with a red plastic bucket upside down on her head, yellow handle tucked under her chin.  Miss Shelly has had Bethany in her class for a mere month, but even she has learned that with Max, you just never know what to expect.  Needless to say, Miss Shlley didn’t bat an eye at the headgear.

I managed to extricate her from the playground without the bucket.  She babbled about her day and listed the string of scrapes and bumps aquired by various playmates as was her custom to do.  She told me about one friend getting  in trouble because he ate playdough and another one who wouldn’t share her babydoll.  (Notice none of the wrongdoing involved her.  Yeah, right.)

This went on most of the way home.  For the last few minutes of the trip, the backseat grew quiet and I supposed she had run out of stories for the moment.   Just as I had become used to the silence, I hear:

Wait! We have to go back to school!”

“Beth, we are almost home.  Why do we have to go back to school?”

“I have to put the mowch back on the playground!” yelled Max.

Quickly looking in the rear view mirror, I see her pulling a tiny shard of wood off of one of her little white socks. Can you say OCD?

“I got to put the mowch back!  Turn the car!  Go back to school, Mommy!”  The matter of the mulch was getting urgent.

“Bethany, I’m not going back to school.  You can put the mulch in our garden.”  (Don’t judge me, you wouldn’t have turned around either.)

“That’s okay.  I dropped it.  It’s all gone,” she said quietly, dusting off her hands.

Crisis averted, just like that.


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