So, for today's offering, a brief glimpse into Son-Two's life as an almost 23-month-old--as well as a brief glimpse into my own life as a 23-year-old mother of three children three and under.
Wednesday, November 20, 1991
Today--Son-One came out of his room and said, "Where did Son-Two's Weeble go?" Having just heard the toilet flush, I had a pretty safe assumption where Son-Two's Weeble* had gone. I plunged and poked and prodded and prayed and finally, the toilet was flowing normally again. Alas, we shall never see the Weeble again. But the loss is minor compared to my panicked imaginings of the backyard being dug up to remove the poor, wobbly plastic dude from the sewer pipe.
*For the record: this kind of Weeble:
...as opposed to the similarly-sized, but smooth-sided and infinitely-more-flushable version apparently being produced today:
Of course, for sheer flushability, not to mention choking hazardousness, there was no beating the '70s version, which was similarly egg-shaped and only about a third of the size of the current model.