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The problem with having a tall child is that she can reach the countertops that much faster. Plain and simple. I'm just not ready for that yet as this story will show.

Two days ago, Ada figured out how to pull a towel off the countertop. She didn't know that a small lunch-sized cooler was sitting on top of it, and I watched as it bonked her on the head--hoping that the tiny bump she'd get would be a mini sort of lesson to her. Sure enough, it bonked her head and she looked at me like "Huh? What was that Mom?" She's clearly too young for a lesson on how gravity works.

In the past, her ability to reach the counters hasn't been much of a problem. She can reach her sippy cups to tell us to refill them. She pulled the dried pineapple and the raisins off the counter as a "Mom, feed me!" sign. I've done my best to train myself and Rick to keep the knives far back on the counter or in their block so she can't reach them. We've been keen to do the same at parties. All is fine and dandy until last night...

Last night, I had too much on my "to do" list. I always do so this should come as no surprise. I'm a list maker and a list checker-offer. It's what brings me joy in life. Completing a task and starting something new. So last night, I'm trying to get something off my "to do" list and feed Ada dinner. While eating dinner, Ada was throwing her food on the floor so I was reprimanding her for the millionth time hoping that lesson would soon sink in. It didn't. She seemed to be finished eating so I took her out of her high chair. Just then, our lovely neighbor Kelly came over to hang out before her haircut appointment. She sat and ate a sandwich while chatting with us. She was eating so Ada wanted to eat. That's just how it works. So I decided to peel an orange for Ada. We're fine up and to this point.

Here's where I get stupid. Oranges are messy and I figured I'd put it on a plate. I SHOULD have grabbed a plastic plate or a bowl, but I didn't. Instead, I grabbed a plate my good friend Colette gave me for my birthday this past June. One of a set of four mind you. They've been put into the everyday rotation so I can remember our year and a half of good times before she moved to Seattle this Summer.

So I get the orange peeled and onto the plate. Ada immediately goes to grab a piece of orange from the plate and I realize what's about to happen... SO I MOVE THE PLATE TO THE FLOOR. Part of me felt like I was putting down the dog's dish at my parents house. Dishes just don't feel right on the floor. Somewhere in my gut a little voice was screaming "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" But I didn't listen.

We hung out with Kelly. She stayed for about 45 minutes. Ada did her thing, ate some oranges, hung out. Then Kelly left and I resumed work on my "to do" list by paying some bills on the computer. Ada's babbling and finishing the oranges. Something tells me to look over at her and sure enough, she's got the plate two feet off the tiled kitchen floor and is holding it awkwardly.

Oh shit.

There it goes. In s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n. Down. Down. Down to the floor where it crashes into 4 main pieces and a dozen little shards we'll be finding three weeks later. I freak out and yell "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Ada starts crying. I start tearing -- I really miss Colette and this is a new plate. Damn it Ada. I scoop her up and maneuver through the kitchen to her room to keep her safe. Silly me thinks I can just shut the door and she'll play while I go clean up the mess. Nope. She starts screaming like the neighbor's kid just squashed her favorite donut.

New plan. Let's lock both of us in Ada's room and clean it until daddy comes home. Then he can clean the kitchen.

Urg.

Moral of the story: Always use plastic. For everything. Until your kid is 25, at least.