Pretty much every evening we head out as a family for a daily walk. It is family time – a time when Steve can ramble non-stop about nerd stuff, and Stella can get mad about halfway through, demanding that we get home RIGHT NOW! It is what some people call bonding time.

In order for the walk to be even moderately successful, it is required that we load up with a minimum set of required items. These items usually include (but are not limited to): miscellaneous chunks of food stuffed into a baggie, Stella’s hat, a blanket (it is Humboldt County after all), a beverage in a tippy cup, Stella’s play cell phone that has a recording feature (on which we have usually record a witty and clever message like “Steelllllaaaa, I am your faaaathuh”) and Stella’s dolly. The dolly is one of those types that comes equipped with a pacifier and bottle, and as such, it’s mouth is permanently formed into an O shape. She quickly comandeered the bottle for herself, chewing on it until it resembled something spit out of a wood chipper, and for a long time she would hold up the pacifier and asks me “What dat foah?” I would remind her that it is a pacifier, and that no amount of duct tape in the world was able to keep one in her mouth when she was a baby.

Lately, she has lost interest in the specific items that were designed for the purpose of fitting in that dolly’s mouth, and has instead begun to implement all those sharing skills we have been drilling into her head by dumping, pouring or shoving a little of whatever she has into that tiny little O of a mouth. Just as we were getting ready to head out the door on our walk this evening Steve realized that Stella had “shared” some of Mommy’s water with her dolly (read: spilled water all over herself, her dolly and her stroller). You think from this little episode, we would have seen what was coming next.

At one point, while Steve was nerding out about photon laser blasters or prime number halos or some such topic that had him spitting with excitement, I look down to see cheese smushed all over the dolly’s face and – you guessed it – packed full-up in that little O of a mouth. Now, you haven’t seen yummy until you have seen a bald, plastic-headed baby with cheddar cheese rubbed all over it’s head and stuffed into it’s mouth. (Steve pointed out later that it was even shoved into it’s tiny little nostrils). Upon making this grisly discovery, we quickly came to the conclusion that it would not be worth the crying fit that would ensue should we try to extricate that poor doll from the terror it was being subjected to. It would just have to wait until we got home. I mean come on, it isn’t that big of a deal – right? Wrong.

Two seconds later, we look down to see Stella’s hand placed firmly on the back of the doll’s head while she proceeds to SUCK THE CHEESE FROM IT’S MOUTH. I won’t go into any further descriptive of what it looked like, as I think it is illegal in some states to even describe such a frightening scene involving a child. And, really, do you need much more of a visual on this one?

The evening ended with Steve performing a cheese-ectomy using a Q-tip and a wet-wipe. That, and we found another reason for us to consider our child special in a way that only she is.