lick it…

On my third trip up the stairs, hands clenched to grocery sacks, I found Ava cleaning the bottom of her gold sparkle shoe with her tongue.

All the soot and gunk that her shoe had collected from the driveway, preschool, the sidewalk, Trader Joe’s and the parking lot was now lathered on her face in a thick, black film. I set down the food bags to melt in the doorway and lead the bearded Ava to the bathroom, all the while explaining the implications of dirt and germs. I reminded her the reason we ask her to remove her shoes at the door is to keep these bothersome germs out of our house, which includes her mouth!

I scrubbed out her mouth with a washcloth and then a toothbrush. She followed this by swishing diluted Listerine while I counted to twenty, twice, and prayed that it’s antiseptic would do it’s work.

As I sat in the bathroom watching Ava wash away her folly, I thought of how I had promised her a treat when I had finished bringing up the groceries. Here in my bathroom was C.S. Lewis’ hypothetical child who chooses to make mud pies in the slum because she cannot comprehend the preference of a holiday at the sea, confirming his theory that “we are far too easily pleased.”

Ava would have gone on licking the other shoe if I had not arrived and intervened. Even though a better snack was just a few steps away, she was fully content with her muck, literally.

Of course, this leads me to ask how often do I lick a lollipop of dirt because I can’t wait for what is sweet and good?

And, what is the point of washing my floor if she is just going to lick her shoes?