Is it really, really super mean to "lose" your kid's favorite toy for a while? Just a little while. I mean, I know I cried and all when I lost my blankie as a kid, but these are just toys. And I got over it. Right? Cause I'm telling ya, if I have to hear the hooves of that giraffe and zebra (both of which he insists on calling horses even though he knows darned well what they are) dance or stomp or race or whatever they do against a hard surface for another twenty minutes I may throw them out the window. On the highway.
Also, he may be allergic to pickles. This sounds ridiculous because 1) there are a mulitude of way cooler things to be allergic to and 2) who's allergic to PICKLES? But he ate fishsticks with tartar sauce (also known in Punkin lingo as butter), which he has never had before. Tartar sauce, I mean. And he ate plenty of mayo this weekend. So it has to be the relish that made his face and kneck bust out in all amounts of red splotchiness. My kid is so weird.
Anyway, I am off to the store to buy some pickles, which Punkin will refuse to eat, in order to test my theory. I may just have to put a dab of juice on his skin and see what happens. He didn't seem uncomfortable, so I don't feel toooo guilty.
Speaking of guilt, who am I kidding? Take away the loves of his life to save myself from a thunderous little headache? Don't be silly.