So it's Thursday night, and in case you haven't noticed, it's been one long week. And frankly, I am rather excited about the prospects of tomorrow being Friday. I don't really know what difference it makes, as my days are frequently quite similar and tend to meld one right into the other. But somehow knowing that the weekend is near brings a sense of relief, and I can feel the tension begin to evaporate from my shoulders. Weird.
Anyway, back to this week.
When I gave birth to "Baby No-Mo" two years ago, I envisioned his arrival as the proverbial icing. A perfectly delicious way to end this "season" of our lives. I mean, look at him. YUMMY!
He was the sweetest baby ever... you know, just sort of glad to be here, along for the ride at times, docile and happy-go-lucky.
His entrance into our family life was a seamless transition. He loved his siblings, and they loved him.
He was truly a joy to be around.
THEN HE TURNED 2!
He can now frequently be found (read: constantly) doing something he is not supposed to be doing.
For example:
Drinking the bath water. Gross. Just gross.
Foraging in the yard. I have no idea what is in his mouth. I pray it is not poisonous but that it tastes bad. That will be his only deterrent.
Drawing on himself with markers. Apparently it's
way more fun than paper.
Climbing into and upon everything that is stationary.
Do you notice who is in the background watching this take place? Oh yeah. But he is not always the ringleader, we have found. And this particular episode has forced me to lock the bathroom doors to keep him out. If you need to potty at my house, you better plan ahead. We have to find the key.
But alas, this week, the littles discovered yet another new and creative way to send their already near the edge mother one slippery step closer to her inevitable destination. Let me explain.
The big kids and I were finishing lunch and a video, and the mini-marauders asked to wash their hands and faces. Somewhat skeptical but not wishing to clean mystery stains off the couch, I allowed them access to the bathroom sink nearest the den so I could keep an eye on them. They appeared to be doing a good job and no one was actually IN the sink so I allowed a longer than normal hand-washing session to occur.
It's all a blur how it happened really. You see, as I cleared the lunch mess and quickly straightened the kitchen, I no longer heard water running and
assumed they were all done and had come back to the den to finish watching the video before nap time.
Heh.
A few moments passed and I realized they were not in fact where I thought they were and that the bathroom door was closed. That, my friends, is
never a good sign.
They had closed the bathroom door leading to the den, only to exit through the other door into their sister's room. When we opened the door, this is what we found.
Oh yes. That is an entire container of powder that was on top of the changing table behind two brand new packs of diapers. IT WAS NOT EVEN VISIBLE!!!!!
Me: (breathe) 1-2-3-4... (breathe) WHAT... (breathe *cough* *cough*) ARE YOU DOING?!
W: Makin' snow angels. 'Wijah' wanted to.
E: unintelligible gibberish... SNOW... jabber jabber... WYATT!
Me: ...
After a little reluctant help from the big kids, we got the littles showered, dressed and down for a nap with little to no complaint (probably because they saw my eye twitching and didn't want to press their luck) and most of the mess dusted, swept, swiffered and mopped up.
I then flopped onto the couch for a moment of solitude I like to call "sit and stare" while I contemplated the meaning of life and the uselessness of powder. Emily's room still smells "powder fresh" which in case you don't know is highly overrated.
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