Totally Teyla

I was in the final stretch of making dinner last Friday night when I realized I hadn't heard from Teyla in a while.

One of the primary lessons I've learned about that girl is this: Fear silence.

I glanced into the living room. I could see Connor on the floor, next to the dolls where Teyla had been playing five minutes earlier.

"Connor, is Teyla in there with you?"

He didn't even look up. "No."

I turned off the kitchen sink to listen closely. I heard a distant thud and a creak. It sounded like she was in the kids' bathroom upstairs.

"Teyla!" I called. "What are you doing? Come down here and be with us!"

No answer. Just another thud.

I finished stirring the blueberry muffin batter, washed off my hands and walked upstairs. As I rounded the corner to the bathroom, Teyla jumped and grinned.

She was standing in the bathtub, with a huge wad of wet toilet paper in her hand. Another wad of wet toilet paper was in her mouth, being chewed like gum. The toilet seat was up and most of the water was gone.

She held out her extra wad, as if to say, "Want some?"

Speechless.

"Teyla, there are no words for how disgusting this is," I said under my breath, as I pulled the TP out of her mouth and hand.

But at the same time, I couldn't help but smile a little, because it was a moment that was totally Teyla.