Dirt. Grass seed. Rocks. Sidewalk chalk. Cigarette butts. Zip ties. Bubble solution. Bubble wands. Sand. Grass. Leaves. Sticks. Trains. Matchbox cars. Pencils. iPhones. iPods. Remote controls. Sponges. Kleenex. Paper towels. Uncooked rice. Cooked rice. Magnets. Ice cubes. Straws. Beads. Nails. Thumbtacks. Silk flowers. Coasters. Poopy diapers. Poopy wipes. Clean diapers. Clean wipes. Barettes. Ponytail holders. Cotton balls. Brushes. Eyeliner. Toilet paper. Earthworms.
Ah, yes. The earthworm. If you haven't figured out what I am writing about, those are the most recent things that came to mind that Wesley has put in his mouth in the last 96 or so hours. The kid either has a serious case of pica or a penchant for knowing exactly what he shouldn't put in his mouth, so of course, he puts it there. The earthworm was actually a couple of weeks ago and all I could do was stare at him and throw up in my mouth a little bit. Thank God I have an incredibly awesome neighbor who doesn't fear touching gross things the way I do, so she kindly swatted it out of his mouth and launched it into the yard. Wes was left smacking his lips with what little earthworm he may have ingested along with the dirt appetizer that came along with it.
If I haven't said it before, I will now. Matt and I are in agreement that God knows what he was doing when he gave us Wesley last. Otherwise, the Brogans just may have been a three-person household.
