My day has included
- a flooded bathroom - To be three-years-old and think that bubbles in the sink are SO WORTH the consequences of completely flooding the bathroom, all the way through the drawers and into the cabinet below. He wasn't even a little bit sorry, either. He said, "I made a mess! It was unwise!" and grinned. If anyone knows how you're supposed to respond to that, I'm listening.
- a two-year-old who not only decided that yesterday was the last day he will ever transfer from his car seat to his bed for nap, but who also decided that since he'd already slept for ten minutes in the car, the best use of his un-naptime was to take off all his clothes and pee around the perimeter of his crib. He's not the first boy in this house to find such a thing amusing, but still - one never gets used to walking into a nursery to find a ring of urine and a naked toddler looking pleased with himself.
- a forty minute (!!) wait in the doctor's office to see a nurse at the nurse's station long enough for her to gag my son for a strep re-check. Seriously - I don't usually complain about wait times in doctors' offices, because my doctor is a SAINT and I will gladly wait to see her. But Hell should include activities such as this - take two perfectly healthy children, who are excited about their morning plans, out of their routine unexpectedly. Put them in a huge room divided in half. On the left (with the goats, if you will), are all of the feverish, limp little kids leaning against their parents and watching Dora. Put all of the interesting toys - and the POTTY, for crying out loud - on that side. (Make sure one boy needs to go potty in what is sure to be the stomach-virus-infested bathroom, while the other is trying to grab under the toilet seat.) On the right side of the room is not one interesting toy, not even a good cartoon, and a room smashed full of mothers holding docile, cooing infants and watching these two perfectly healthy boys bounce off the wall, while casting meaningful looks that suggest I should Control My Children. Yes, Hell should have moments like that.
Forty minutes of that, friends. To stop by the nurse's station.
- a call to Poison Control. Because Silas decided the train table was looking a little bare - it needed some toothpaste to brighten it up. And I had a heart-stopping moment when I realized half the tube was missing, and there was blue on his face. Of course, after I called poison control (who didn't help me calm down that much - they were ready for me to take him to the ER, since he can't drink milk and milk is what would neutralize the hydrochloric acid and HYDROCHLORIC ACID?! IN HIS STOMACH?! Yeah, they didn't help me feel better) - after all of that I realized that most of the toothpaste was on the train table and the window sill beside it. I think he tasted it, but didn't eat enough to really poison himself. The poison control lady also told me I needed to keep him up an hour, and that evoked almost as much panic as the idea of the Emergency Room. Lady, do you know what kind of day I had? And did you hear the part about him not taking a nap? I can't keep him awake an hour! I'll never make it!
That's what kind of day it's been.
How was your day?