Saturday, April 12, 2008
Ever since she emptied the grocery bag in the family room, E can't stop playing with her erstwhile-nourishment ensemble. Pieces get rearranged, removed for examination, returned to more flattering angles, I don't know exactly. I've only succeeded in removing one mango to the kitchen, and that was only because E wanted to eat it. This morning before shul she took it upon herself to buff everything up - I guess the apple skins had been looking a little lackluster. So she was draping each of the organic Fujis with a baby wipe, letting it sit, and then gently rubbing it. Yes, the apples received spa facials. But the poor widowed mango. She dropped him on the floor, and I asked her to please stop messing with the fruit. She either ignored me or disregarded me as she set about perfecting her composition, and dropped the sad little mango on the floor again. I said, in an exasperated tone, "sweetie, all that fruit won't tasted good if it's all bruised." "Huh?" she said, doing that thing she does where she wanted me to repeat the phrase so she could be sure she understood it. "When you drop fruit like that it will get all bruised up, love. Don't drop it again." She had sensed my displeasure, and now displayed a literal comprehension of my comment, too. She got her eager-to-please demeanor together, picked the mango up off the floor, and said, "I kiss it." And she did.