Last Sunday, when I went to pick up Toddler from the church nursery, the room monitor seemed excited for me to hear something she had to say (apparently, she’d been saying it to every other parent who came to pick up his/her child). So, I squatted down to Toddler’s level to see the black piece of construction paper on which she’d colored a crescent moon with yellow chalk. Then, she said, “God made–the dark! See? God made (pause) the dark!” Grownups smiled. Toddler smiled. She handed me her proud creation.
When we got home, I carefully put her prized picture in the special place where I’ve kept all her other Sunday morning and preschool drawings–our master bathroom’s trashcan. I grew up with a packrat mother; while I may have similarities with other members of the rodent family, the packrat isn’t one of them.
A few minutes later, Toddler went into our master bathroom to use her little potty.
Toddler: “Oh no, Daddy!”
What Toddler Meant: “You asshole!”
She pulled her drawing out of the trash and handed it to me.
Being the sentimental father I am, I naturally waited until she was asleep and tossed in into the kitchen trashcan. It has a lid.