Where do the Crumbs Go?

Consider yourself forewarned as I continue to turn the minutiae of my day into entertaining blog fodder. I'll make it as painless as possible.
Apartment living is.......well it's interesting. Being startled awake at 5:00 am by what sounds like cement blocks being dumped on my head by the tenants above, crying babies at 2 am, the grating voice of our elevator at 1 am announcing the arrival of our neighbors across the hall...it's all an adjustment to be sure after having lived in a house for so long. Which begs the question...can my neighbors hear me? How thick are these walls anyway? And the marble floors? I'm pretty sure you can here a pin drop...I mean, I hear them dropping all the time upstairs. Let's not mince words.....when I'm annoyed, um, well, I know this may come as a shock, I'm a yeller....Can my neighbors hear all that? I wonder what they're thinking. Do I even want to know? Is there a Child Protective Services over here? The whole concept unnerves me. As a side note, I only raise my voice when Wyatt's not listening, or when he's whining...or talking back. Huh. No, seriously, should I be worried?
Let me disclose some further information. I've never professed to have any type of domestic prowess. You know, things like cleaning and cooking-they're just not where my strengths lie. In fairness, Will knew what he was getting. I never professed otherwise- actually I was very up front, not that I really needed to say anything- my clutter of a life spoke for itself. I'm the type of housekeeper that in a pinch may  sweep a pile of whatever it is that needs to be swept up under a rug...or a couch. Piles of paper? No biggie- find a drawer. I am after all, a master stuffer. Crumbs on my kid? Scoop him up, shake him outside. Which now leads me to my current apartment dilemma. Wyatt's breakfast consisted of a chocolate muffin. While tasty, it was quite "crumby" as evidenced by the baked good remnants all over my son and white marble floor. I'm embarrassed to write this- but I had a momentary flash of panic. I mean I don't own a Dustbuster, my garbage can reaches as high as my mid-calf and I don't have any throw rugs yet. We're on the third floor so I knew that pulling a Michael Jackson and shaking him off the balcony probably wasn't going to work(my windows don't open that far anyway). Well, thank goodness I'm a gal who thinks on her feet-I cradled him like an infant and threw him(shook him..wow, that doesn't really sound any better...) in the shower. Don't be scared for me. This whole decision making process all took approximately one minute. I didn't belabor the issue and leave Wyatt stranded in the living room to watch Dora from his chair all day or anything (though that was also a fleeting thought).
Thankfully the rest of the weekend was relatively stress free. Wyatt and I went to the International Flower Expo in which the most "exciting" part was deliberating how incredibly socially inappropriate it would be for Wyatt to discreetly take a leak in a bush seeing as all of the bathrooms were taken. It's never good when a kid is clutching themselves in a panic with that face..yeah, you know the one- the face that screams I'M NOT GONNA MAKE IT.- Thankfully he did make it and we did not breach  social etiquette (or break any laws for that matter) in the process. At this point I'm just waiting for Will to come home-'cause as the sole entertainment for my child, I have to say, I'm pretty whipped.

This was Wyatt's third wish. He wished for a backhoe.