November 5, 2015
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I was basking in an after shower sigh when my son ran into the bathroom with his cartoonish canter that makes it difficult for him to round corners. Clearly he was urging me to follow…this can’t be good… I walk into what will soon be my daughter’s room, but at present holds a spare guest bedroom. I couldn’t initially see what my son was pointing to in excited proclamations. I cross the room, look behind the bed, and the floor was blanketed with half the contents of a full tissue box. Oh, Kleenex box, I hardly knew you, but you were so young and your box matched the haphazard room décor so exceptionally well…
Upon his scattered trophy carnage, my son danced the Flamenco before pausing with outstretched arms as though he means his first words to be, “Happy New Year!” There are two choices I could make at this time, see red or laugh uncontrollably…I chose the latter because this is really just absurd…the floor was completely covered in white tufts of soft paper.
I sit down in an effort to salvage as many of the tissues as possible before Mr. Man finishes his mission to shred every downy remnant. Surprisingly, he hadn’t had the opportunity to destroy all that many…yet. As I layer tissues on my folded knee, my son insists on interfering with the process, reminding me of the Sour Patch Kids candy commercials I’ve seen periodically. Briefly he tries to grab my workmanship contents, but soon changes course to helping me clean the mess. He, however, is a toddler, so it is safe to assume that he really has no concept of what constitutes helpful, but I am obligated to commend his ambitions nonetheless. Little Man is adding to my efforts of full and nearly full sheets with shreds of the smallest morsels he can find. Within seconds he becomes bored and begins eating his shreds…clearly the diet I provide him lacks the appropriate quantities of fiber…
Eventually, the task is complete. Both the remaining box and neatly stacked piles are moved out of my son’s reach…probably…we’ll see. The kid is probably constructing stilts in the basement when I’m not paying attention. In any case, well played Mr. Man.