Meet the Fall Guy

His name? Well, according to the Official Ugly Doll website, it's Secret Mission Ice Bat. He can live in the freezer and steal your noms. Be that as it may, according to our daughter, that is Wombat. It is her lovey and God forbid you ever do something like forget him in the doctor's office on a Friday because then you'll have to invent a story about how he was sick too and he had to stay for observation. Over the weekend. But isn't Fishcakes nice? (Don't ask - it's another lovey, second best.)

Ahem. So anyway...

With A's imagination in full swing these days, wwe've discovered that she has adapted to her single-childhood well. I grew up with two younger brothers that were close in age (and later, a baby sister who's 10 and a half years my junior, so she missed out on this...) and M grew up with an older brother. That meant that we always had a Fall Guy.

The Fall Guy was the one you pointed to and said, "HE DID IT!!!" while you were standing in the middle of a pile of broken pottery and your brother was playing innocently across the room. The Fall Guy wrote on the walls, made the mess, jumped on the bed until it broke.

Sometimes it worked, most times, our parents gave us the hairy eye and then a good talking to or, more likely than not, a sore rear and sent us to bed, even if it was only one in the afternoon.

Single children, however, don't have that luxury. Or do they? Wombat, as he is lovingly known,
has suddenly developed a penchant for, as A puts it, "Making a mee-yess." In fact, a couple of weeks ago, the poor thing threw up all over the lobby at Play Skool - and looked her father blearily in the eye and moaned, "Uh oh, Daddy. Wombat make a mee-yess."
Wombat was covered in sick, so it stood to reason, yes? She later waited patiently by the laundry room until his bath was done. Talk about devotion!

While that was the most dramatic example of Wombat taking the hit (literally in that he was thrown up on and figuratively as well), he's also taking the blame more frequently for the daily messes that occur as the direct result of having a two year-old.

Mostly, it's amusing. She's never reached a point where she absolutely insists that Wombat take full responsibility for clean up of any "mee-yesses" and will often clean up with out being asked, Wombat safely tucked under one arm the whole time.

I'm eager to see where this goes. I love the magic of the toddler years and I love that, without ever being "taught", even an only child can find her patsy.

Who was your fall guy growing up? How about your kids?