A day of rest. I'm sure somewhere that's what it means...but not at our house. Our Saturday morning started with the love of my life heading off to football practice, and then to the Auto-Hobby shop to try to replace the clutch in his car. The car that we discovered this morning had been broken into.
I kissed my beloved and headed up the stairs to the bathroom, where, as usual, I didn't even get to pee in peace as the phone immediately started ringing.
"Just wanted to make sure you knew Payton was standing on the table. I could see her waving at me out the window as I drove away."
I removed the little mischievous one from the table, and continued about my morning, until my young son came and found me with a very full diaper. So, like any good mom, I ignored him at first (I didn't realize he was poopy right away, he was complaining about something on his shirt), but eventually realized the real problem and whisked him off to be changed. As I started the diaper change, I glanced over towards my littlest one, who had swiped a half full yogurt carton off the table.
"Put it down, Payton," I called over to her. So she did. Only she more dropped it. Onto the marble floor. And it exploded a spray of strawberry yogurt across the dining room floor, through the doorway and across the entryway. And as I stared in shock and awe, still holding Zeke's feet up in the air, poopy bottom just hanging out, I heard one of my favorite phrases yelled down the stairs: "Mom, can you come wipe me??"
Oh wait, it gets worse. As I was hurrying a now clean Zeke and Payton up the stairs so I could tend to their eldest sibling, Zeke started babbling something about poop and the playground. I assumed that he meant their playground in the basement. The one he had been down playing on immediately before coming to find me to complain about something on his shirt. With a sinking stomach, I ventured down to check out his ramblings.
Oh yes, that is what you think it is. And oh yes, this picture is even better when it's bigger. And oh, the smell. Go ahead, take a moment, thank the Big Guy that this was not your playroom this morning. Then go buy stock in Lysol.
But the good news is that there are these wonderful things called baby gates, which kept all three of my darling children restricted to the bedroom area while I scrubbed and disinfected the basement, and mopped the dining room, entryway, and kitchen floors.
The other good, although only slightly related, news is that we had a poop incident yesterday, and I for once was not involved! We went with a group of friends to a waterpark down by Venice for the day (an amazing day, for the record), and we split the kids up between the men in one car, and us ladies in another. It was a bit of a drive, and about halfway home the guys pulled off to the side of the freeway, and Jesse jumped out with a handful of napkins, pulling Cooper out behind him. Us girls all kind of giggled, glad that it wasn't us hiking off into the bushes with a preschooler who couldn't wait until the next rest area. And I for one was really glad it wasn't me when Jesse reemerged with a teary Cooper Paige, announcing, "We pooped in stinging nettles." My first thought was of a poor little naked tushy with red welts all over it, but I was reassured that her bottom somehow remained unstung, unlike both of their arms and legs. So maybe not so good of news for Jesse and Cooper, but I was sure comfortable in my nice, climate controlled leather seat, where I sat and watched while Jesse stood on the side of the road, using wet wipes to try to wipe some of the sting off of himself and our daughter.
I think maybe some day I really will write that book.
