I made a visual aid:
PAT Lady put the sock over her own hand and addressed WCB: "Hello!" she said in a cheerful voice. "I'm Mr. Dusty!"
WCB immediately turned away, grabbed on to me for dear life, and screamed in terror. I'm not sure what she found scarier: The appearance of Mr. Dusty, or the actual concept of dusting, an action that WCB has never actually seen performed in her own home. You know now there's going to be a note in her permanent record until she graduates from high school: "Fears Mr. Dusty."
Maybe I could use Mr. Dusty as a discipline tool. "Eat your vegetables, WCB, or Mr. Dusty will have a talk with you."
In other PAT news, WCB passed all of her "tests" this morning with flying colors: She could stack eight blocks, she could pick a kitty out of a lineup of animals, she could point to a dolly's nose. The only test she didn't pass was kicking a ball. Although we play with balls all day every day, she stared at PAT Lady's ball as though she'd never seen one before, again earning another note in her permanent record: "Won't kick ball."
The instant PAT Lady's minivan pulled out of our driveway, WCB exclaimed, "Ball! Kick!" and kicked a ball dramatically across the living room. Sigh.
Mr. Dusty is going to talk to her about this.