To Bean or Not to Bean

I had one of those “what do you do now” moments last night.  To set the stage: I had made some slow-cooker concoction which morphed from a rather poor excuse for a black bean stew into a delicious bean dip via my stick blender.  I had already fed Stella and was trying to eat my dinner (a shallow bowl of dip topped with sour cream eaten with tortilla chips) while watching some Guppies with her before bed.  She’s gotten to where she’s pretty interested in whatever we’re eating and will usually try it even if it comes right back out to us.  I’ll take that vs refusing to try anything new any day!

She had squeezed between me and the arm of the couch on my left (her favorite spot when winding down) and I had given her a chip with a touch of dip on it.  I had placed the bowl beside me on my right side with the bag of chips next to it.  All was right with the world (and in Bubbletucky) for several minutes.  In the blink of an eye, she had launched herself over my lap, combat-rolling into the bowl of dip and bag of chips.  During the maneuver, her head rolled straight through my dip and her body was cushioned by the chips. She stuck the landing beautifully.   It was one of those things that happened in milliseconds but seemed to occur in slow-motion. 

At first I couldn’t tell how bad the damage was.  I stupidly looked at the couch and saw a small smear of bean.  Ok.  That wasn’t bad.  Stella then slowly turned back toward me, still holding that chip I had given her before the incident, and I saw the left side of her head.  Her sweet little hair was plastered to her skull with a black bean and sour cream slurry.  The bag of chips was pulverized.  She chose that moment to try her chip with dip.  She didn’t like it.  I simultaneously began to giggle hysterically.  She tried to feed me the dip-tainted chip and seemed really perplexed as to what was the matter with her mother.

I went to the kitchen to get wet rags.  It seemed like the thing to do.  When I got back into the living room, I found Stella hiding between the coffee table and couch crouched over the bag of chips.  She had two large fistfuls pulled out already.  I laughed even harder.

I was not the best mother in the aftermath.  I decided it was too late for a bath and shampoo, which she desperately needed, and opted to dab at her head with the wet rag.  I got the solids out at least.  I put her to bed with black bean-scented dreadlocks, the aroma of which I’m still enjoying this morning.  She’ll be shampooed later this afternoon.  A little bean dip never hurt anyone.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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