Crisis Averted

I've had The Talk with Daughter 1 on more than one occasion.  She's come to me on several different occasions asking pertinent questions.  I always gave her direct and honest answers followed by a glass or four of sangria.  For me, not her. Overall, I felt confident that when the time came for Daughter 1 to cross the threshold from girl-child to woman, we were prepared.


I just never expected her to cross that threshold this week.

We were not prepared.  And by "we" I mean "I."

On this particular fateful day, Daughter 1 lay on the couch recovering from a stinky sinus infection that had kept her house bound for a couple of days.  She was bored, but didn't have any energy to do anything about it.  I had made her favorite lunch - grilled cheese with ketchup on the side - and she had taken three bites.

She had pulled the pillows from behind her head and put them under her feet, then complained because she wanted them under her head but didn't feel like reaching down and grabbing them again.

She had propped her feet on the arm of the couch and then got frustrated that her blanket wouldn't keep her feet covered up.  She asked her sister to cover them up and then complained that she was too hot.  She had reached the point of complete uncomfortability (Shut up. I'm sure that's a word.) and had taken her entire family with her on that ride.

It was a very confusing time for all of us.

During one of her bouts to be settled, she shrieked with sincere concern in her voice, "Momma! Oh no!  Momma!"

I raced from the kitchen where I was cooking homemade noodle soup pulling foil from the top of pre-made pudding.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  Apparently, Daughter 1 was crossing that threshold. Today.  Right now.


"I'm so sorry, Momma!" she cried as she stared at the stain on my couch.

I was quick to console her, "Oh, baby girl.  It's alright.  You couldn't have done anything to prevent this."  Then I got weepy thinking of this milestone in her life.  Then I got panicky thinking of the supplies that I knew I didn't have at home.

Then I got completely and utterly grossed out because Daughter 1 reached down to the stain on the couch, swept her fingers through the stain and then LICKED her fingers!

"What the what, Daughter 1?  I don't... I mean... What the..." I couldn't even string together a coherent thought.  My child had just displayed what might be the most bizarre coming-of-age reaction I've ever been witness to.

"I'll clean it up, Momma," she said sweetly as she scraped her fingers across the stain yet again and yet again licked said fingers!  What in the world was wrong with this child!??! I gagged just a little bit.

"STOP THAT!" I screamed way too loud at my sick-in-more-than-one-way child.  "You can't eat that!"

"Why?" she asked, "Has it been out too long?"

"OUT TOO LONG?!" I yelled,  "You can't eat it at all!"

"I can't eat ketchup?" she innocently asked.

Ketchup?  Ketchup??  OH!  Ketchup.

I was feeling all kinds of relief at the ketchup smudged on my couch.  The view on this side of the threshold is much funnier anyway.