It’s been one of those weeks where everyday I have a new you-won’t-believe-this story for my mother. When I say to my sister, “Do you want another reason to procrastinate childbirth?” When I consider gawking at my own children like they’re complete strangers (elbowing the person next to me, “Can you believe that? Where is their mother?!”). And because I have so much to share, I’m going to reveal these little gems in a series called (cue the music) “Yep, this is my life…” Here’s the first installment.
We are currently going napless at the Belknap home for completely valid reasons I no longer remember (for more information on the napping dilemma, visit Jennifer at Playgroups Are No Place for Children). And I’m sure my napless crusade started this insane chain of events that has given me so much to blog about.
It all started Thursday night. It was the end of a successfully napless day, meaning that neither of my nap-friendly children had fallen asleep on the stairs or in the hallway in the late afternoon. It also meant that all of my children were overtired AND hyper. As I cleaned up after dinner they wrestled in the playroom. I didn’t hear the water running in the downstairs bathroom until it was too late.
While I loaded the dishwasher, Zack clogged the bathroom sink with toilet paper and turned the water on. He also turned the shower on and left the curtain wide open. For good measure he stripped naked and left the room.
By the time I got there, I didn’t just step into the bathroom, I splashed into the bathroom. The water was nearly an inch deep and cascading out the bathroom and onto the playroom carpet. It took five large bath towels to clean up. And when I left the bathroom to toss the towels into the laundry? There was a whole carton (new, by the way) of wet wipes strewn across the playroom floor. Zack, stark naked, looked up at me, his two little fists full of wet wipes. “I sorry, Mom,” he said.
And then, while Zack sat on timeout, naked, I picked up wet wipes. And before the timer had beeped, Zack spilled a glass of juice on the floor (for those of you who can't believe one little boy could be responsible for all this, please refer to "DestructoBoy," a post that dumbfounded some of my mother's friends).
“I sorry, Mom,” he said again.
The moral of this story? A mother will withstand nearly anything to get her kids asleep by 8:30. And yes, there were all asleep by 8:30.
Join me again for the next installment (here’s a teaser for you: it involves vomiting in a public swimming pool. Can’t wait, can you.)