Trix are not for kids

I sometimes imagine my life as scenes from a movie. I think about the plot, the developments, dialogue that would make it more interesting.

I had an episode the other day that could have been from a movie. In fact, it would have been more interesting in a real movie than in my real life.

I was in the middle of getting breakfast ready when the phone rang. M's breakfast wasn't ready but I didn't want to listen to her cry while answering the phone so I quickly poured some Trix in a bowl, sat them in front of her, and answered the phone. It was my husband with news from the house hunt front. I sat down on the couch with a good view of M in her seat eating breakfast. As I listened to him talk about comps and short sale contingencies, I watched M throw Trix one by one from her bowl. Her focus was intense as she dropped them. She watched each one land before choosing another to drop.


In a movie, this would have been amusing because you could have seen the scene taking place in my living room and kitchen while hearing a voice over of the phone call. The contrast would have been a wonderful dramatic effect, the seriousness of the conversation juxtaposed with the kitchen destruction which mirrored the internal turmoil surrounding the housing issue.

The Trix were flying but I tried to wait patiently for my husband to finish telling me the news, thinking that it wouldn't be much longer. M starting throwing them farther and farther as I waited. Then, all of a sudden, she had a napkin. I don't know where it came from, but she began to rip it into pieces and drop them on the floor. Rip. Lean over the side. Drop. Watch. Sit up. Repeat. Ah, gravity, you are a wondrous thing.

I watched the scene unfold, unable to do anything, paralyzed by the absurdity of it all, as I listened to my husband spell out the timeline for the current house dilemma and watched M create a widespread disaster on the kitchen floor. At this point, I thought there was no reason to stop him or her. I thought he should finish soon and her mess was already made. He continued. She continued. I felt like laughing. He reached what I decided was a stopping place and I stopped him. I explained the situation, got off the phone a short while later, and went to inspect the damage. This picture is only a small snapshot at the base of her chair.

I found Trix everywhere. The farthest was probably a good ten feet away, maybe more. Some had bounced off the walls and ricocheted under my pie safe. A few made it into the living room. In my haste to answer the phone, I had poured more in the bowl than intended. I didn't realize how much more until I was able to look at them spread out on my kitchen floor. That helped me truly grasp the quantity I had given her. I won't make that mistake again.

I had to leave her in her seat while I cleaned everything up. She cried because I was using the vacuum at one point. She wasn't crying because she was scared. She loves vacuums. She was crying because she was mad she couldn't chase it. It took me almost fifteen minutes to clean up with her making her displeasure known the whole time.

Who said Trix are for kids?  They're wrong, horribly wrong.