Not A Boo Boo

What a mess!  

Down the hall there's a bathroom, and 2 spare rooms one of which has been lightly peppered with kid toys.  The walls have the grandkids handprints on them.  There's a few toys on a bottom bookshelf.  And tucked under the bed is a ball pit.

The ball pit is a cloth fold away container (construction much like a springy fold up kids tunnel).  The ball pit's about 3 feet across and is full of little plastic red, blue, green, yellow, orange, and pink balls.  Gobs of them!

This had been a favored toy EVERY time toddlers come over.  Clean up time includes retrieving every one of those little balls that has been pitched with glee out of the pit.  It's safe and it keeps them entertained for hours.  They think its funny to hide other toys amongst the balls.  And they try to slide into the pit from nearby furniture before getting quickly curtailed by an adult.

Sunday, the 4 y.o. boy, and the 3 and 1 y.o. girls were playing back there when the boy came scurrying into the living room stuttering, and a sharp squeal followed him from down the hall.  I went rushing to discover the reason.  Here's me side-stepping, high-stepping, navigating the balls in the hall, rounding the Cozy Coupe, and breathing sharply stopping in the doorway.  "Lilly!  Are you all right?"


The ball pit is totally empty, I know because it's now upside down, and there's a little moving knob of evidence of Lilly's head from underneath.  "Lilly!  Are you all right?  Are you crying?"

Very sweetly in a sing-song carefree voice, "I'm not crying.  I'm happy."

Shew, I swipe a brow.


The mess got worse!

I had gone upstairs to check on darling hubby who was sick.  The toddlers' mothers were busy chatting and crocheting as each is expecting in the fall.  Pregnancy makes them less quick on their feet.  Those statements explain how the toddler's "got away with murder".  The murder of my little cactus.

Who would touch a cactus anyway!?
A boy!  That's who!

Fisher Price Little People Barn contents - horses, sheep, tractor, farmer, trough, fences, and many more - were mixed with ball pit balls, and dirt.  Yep, dirt.  The boy had partially dumped my cactus on the bed.  The pot wasn't very big, less than 4 inches across, but nothing was interesting or eye catching about it, so why?  Maybe the farmer ran out of dirt.

Adult women bossing kids cleaned up the mess.  Under the beds went the broom handle, over the side table swiped a wet cloth, and throughout the room buzzed the vacuum.

After all was done, and I was getting a refreshing drink of tea in the kitchen, it dawned on me...we never did find that little sprig of a cactus!  Sigh.


Aftermath of a mess.

The 1 y.o. girl was fussing sitting on one of the orange blanketed beds.  "Ah, what's the matter?"  She points to two red marks on her ankle.  I'm thinking she's come into contact with that vanishing cactus somehow.  "My boo boo hurts."

I reach down to gently touch it.  Could there be an abrasion?  Is there a stuck nettle?

As I'm gently investigating, she says, "It not feel better."

Curiously, there's nothing.  I put a little spit on a fingertip and apply swiping action.  The red spots start disappearing, one final rub, and both spots are gone.

So are her whimpers.  With babyfied calm she says, "Oh.  It's not a boo boo."

Disaster averted.  Breath of relief!

Just like a snap of a finger, magically, she'd quit crying!