OK, well, I had to bribe Super Toddler in Target again, but this time he didn't want anything from the $1 section of glory. All he wanted was a Tim Horton's Donut. Well, that isn't a lot to ask and he did stay in the cart for the entire trip, even when I got lost looking for the toilet paper. So, I agree to get him one, even though it is Lent and my Catholic guilt is going into hyper-drive just driving into the Tim Horton parking lot. I query the rear-view mirror for his order. He wants a sprinkle one. Super Preschooler is, funnily enough, actually at preschool today, so I am not getting a lecture on how donuts are not healthy foods but if we are stopping anyway, he would like a jelly-filled one. The glance in the rear-view mirror does alert me to the presence of my third child. Sometimes I forget she is there. There are 3 cars ahead of us, so I have quite awhile to ponder Super Baby and if she is ready for donuts. If the line had been shorter, I might have not gotten her one, but since the man in front of us appears to be ordering for at least 18 people, I mentally review all her accomplishments (many), her food successes (all), and her goodness (absolute). Yes, she is donut ready. Although I do opt against the sprinkles, in favor of an old-fashioned glaze.
I toss Super Toddler's donut to him and he catches it mid-flight, like a seal. From then on, his side of the Awkward Mobile is a blur of pastel sprinkles and grunting. I tune it out and pull over to ceremoniously present Super Baby with her first donut. I twist around and hand it to her; I am rewarded with a toothy grin and eyes about the size of the donut hole they are peeking through. I turn back around and merge into traffic, only to stop at a red light. I glance in the rear-view mirror and become transfixed by the sight. The light turns green and cars start to beep, but I can't quite hear them. I am lost in Super Baby's amazing feat of awe-inspiring appetite.
She raises the donut to her face and just stares at it for awhile, her eyes barely peeking over the sugary landscape. Her ability to fully take in this wonder of pastries builds with each passing second until she finally appears to accept that yes, indeed, it is real, and yes, indeed, it is all hers. Meanwhile, this delicious life-preserver, that actually requires her two baby hands and all her strength just to hold aloft, seems to hover there while she ponders her first bite. She breaks her trance and starts to chew before she even makes contact with the surface; a delightful "nom-nom-nom" sound that sweetly soars over the grunting from Super Toddler. When her lips finally graze the donut, her eyes start to sparkle in a whole new way and her nom sounds shift ever so slightly to accommodate the pillowy goodness filling her mouth.
She nibbles around the entire donut surface before she figures out that she can break it in half. Her sense of pride at this feat of strength makes her whole face glow. She carefully places one donut half in her lap, while she proceeds to hold the other half over her head and dangle it toward her mouth, like a Roman princess reclining at some Bacchanal feast. She eats the entire half this way and then turns her attention to the half in her lap. She studies this half intently, there is no hurry in her moments. She ignores her brother's demands that she hand it over to him, while she squeezes a corner off and brings it up to her nose. She smells it like she is analysing a wine. Then, she crumbles it between her fingers, letting the donut dust rain down the front of her (just washed) winter coat. A giggle escapes her lips. She does it again. And again. She breaks the entire donut half into a fine powder that pools in her lap and overflows into her car seat. She buries her hands in it, only to pull them up and let the fine donut sand sift and pour through her fingers. She looks like she is panning for gold. She seems to do this forever and then, quite suddenly, she squeezes a handful of dust between her hands and molds a brand-new donut. She does this over and over until her lap is now full of what looks like about 10 donut holes.
She proceeds to eat these in exactly the same manner she ate the original donut. I am serious, she has a total loaves and fishes moment back there. I can't find any other explanation for how her donut morphs and re-morphs at least 10 times over on our way home. Or how there are so many crumbs left in her seat for me to clean up.....
We think donuts might be Super Baby's Stilt-Man; kinda silly, ridiculously easy to beat, and delicious. Of course, he is delicious; check out that suit! Yummo!
Well, if there are no more donuts, I will settle for my fingers. No biggie.