Denial is new name of Pudd’ng’s game

Some stunts only a child can pull. Curiosity has something to do with some of these acts. Or, who knows, our daughter is just pushing our mini envelopes. See how much our sometimes wafer-thin patience can take.

Pudd’ng comes to the living room to hug Tenderoni goodnight. She is from the bathroom to empty her bladder. While in the bathroom, we heard fizzing sounds, but we did not make anything of it.

“You mean to tell me you sprayed the air freshener on your hand?” Tenderoni turns from “night-night” to “bite-bite”.

Common sense rule is, hon, if you have dipped your thumb in a honey pot, do not go high-fiving Queen Bee because she will be on you like a hive.
The key to frustration

After doing the monthly budget, Tenderoni divides our money into bits. Different amounts for different items. Some dough she keeps in wallets, the rest in tins. She says that carrying it all together can lead to shopping sprees.

Yesterday, the moolah in the piggy caused some drama…

Reaching for the tin piggy, Tenderoni heard rattling sounds inside. She reached for the bank’s key from where she usually keeps it, only to realise that it was deposited with the money inside the tin.

“Tell me, Genius, how am I supposed to remove the money that’s inside this thing?” a frustrated Tenderoni fumed, as the usual suspect pleaded the Fifth.

Bathing blues
Many times I hear Pudd’ng telling Tenderoni to please allow her to do some things. Mom has learnt that, for some chores, you should not leave a girl to do a woman’s work.

Baby girl is always adamant that, for instance, she wants to bathe herself. Most times she drops the “teacher said” line for maximum effect.

After several boo-boos, Mom is starting to give that line a wide berth.

This morning, Mama’s practised eyes notice something in her daughter’s face.

This is barely minutes after she is from the bathroom as Tenderoni allowed her to bathe herself.

“Did you clean your face?” Tenderoni asks, to which Pudd’ng replies “Yes.”

When Mom points to the “wax” in baby girl’s eyes and dried dribble on her cheeks, the little lady finally comes clean… or should it be dirty?

Chick, what cheek

Our daughter watches TV only on weekends. So the thing that is on her mind after she has taken breakfast, every weekend, is cartoons.

“Dah-dee? Can I turn on the TV?” she asked, as is her protocol, the other Sunday before we left for church.

The thought of making up for lost telly time makes baby girl to forget everything. Even obvious things.

And then …

“Did you wipe your mouth after taking breakfast?” Tenderoni asks Pudd’ng, as we stand at the bus stop, on our way to church.

The young girl nods yes, but the “whole breakfast” on her denying cheeks is a dead giveaway. Her denial is in vain. Which makes Mom the more livid.
Shame. Like y’all-know-who, our daughter is loathe to take personal responsibility.

Omnipresent parent

This day baby girl comes from the bathroom. I am standing at the sink outside the bathroom door. As she opens it, a distinct soapy smell wafts out.

“What did you do?” I ask. Her shifty eyes tell me she was up to no good.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Me? My rolling eyes tell her that this parent is like God. Omnipresent.

She finally confesses that she dipped her hands in the detergent, “to wash them after using the bathroom”.

Nice try. Bad cop-out. Because? On the sink, there is a bar of soap.

Case dismissed

If daughter has her moments, father also has his misapprehensions.

Several days ago, I found two locks that hold the toilet seat unfastened. Our daughter had been the last user, where I thought she had taken an inordinately long time.

Yippee. Detective Joe Soap had the keys to crack the case: Motive, suspect, and “eyewitness”.

“Are you the one who touched those things?” detective prodded, and Pudd’ng swore that, “I didn’t touch the detergent”.

“Those things sometimes pop out by themselves,” Counsel Tenderoni came to Pudd’ng’s defence.

“I’m sorry,” detective apologised to defendant.

Nice try, Baddie Cop

PSST. This night, for dinner, Tenderoni has cooked drumsticks and rice. Usually, our daughter does not care about chicken. Except when they are few and in between, or running out.

Pudd’ng blurts, making me wonder how a fowl entered our crib.

She is asking about the mm mm good drumstick on her plate…

“Mom? Whose hen is this?”