Tiny Bubbles. . . .

ok, here's how it played out. The "informer", aka, 6 year old Madison comes in my room.
"Um, Molly is drinking bubbles."
"What?"
"She's drinking bubbles."
I lay Whitney on the bed and go to see what horror is awaiting me. I find the suspect in the kitchen getting a drink from the fridge.
"Molly were you drinking the bubbles?"
"Um, (with her eyes looking sideways-'do I lie about this? What kind of question is that?') Yes."
I have learned from one of the many Supernanny reality shows to get at their level (I however don't have a --everybody now in an English accent-- Naughty mat) anyway, I bend down, "Are you seriously telling me that you were drinking bubbles?" "What were you thinking?" "You can't do that, Molly!"
I'm really trying to hold it together, like I know what I'm doing, but I'm looking at the dumbfounded look on her face, as if she's saying, "Look, lady, why would anyone drink bubbles, obviously you haven't seen enough cartoons of babies that drink the bubbles, then consequently burb bubbles all day long."
I ask her again, "why did you do that?" She puts her little finger up by her mouth and says, "Umm, Umm, Umm, " then looks at me and smiles and says, "I'm just a little nervous, Umm, Umm, maybe to blow bubbles." I can't help it now and I start laughing.
She is the sweetest, most BUBBLY thing.


By the way, the same child just came in as I was typing, with a spoon and the lemon juice from the fridge saying "can I have some of this mom?" Maybe she's testing out her taste buds today? She just came back in, "Um, mom, can I have pizza?" Wow, what a combination, bubbles, lemon juice, pizza. What's next?