A Laugh A Day: No, That's Not Play-Doh...

For the past couple of weeks, Brett has been working very hard on his thesis at his office during the after-hours. For the kids, it means not seeing Papa much; or, in Isaiah's case, not at all, because of his early bedtime. For me, it means that I am on my own from 6:30 am to 9 pm. I should clarify that Brett spoils me terribly. His office is close enough to bike to and he is generally home by 5:30. When he gets home, he does a quick evaluation of my state of being and picks up the slack, whether that means playing with the kids for a second so I can finish dinner or popping some chicken nuggets in the microwave, feeding and bathing the kids, taking over the bedtime ritual and rubbing my feet when the imps have gone to bed. Despite not having him home as usual, I have to say that I have been doing really well. When I don't expect help, I usually end up not needing it. So far I can say that the house is clean enough, errands are completed, fridge and pantry have been kept stocked, laundry has been kept at bay, bellies have been kept full, and not too much crying on their part or craziness on mine. We even threw in trips to the library and Disney. Today was a pretty good day. I picked up the photos we ordered from Costco and got them on the walls, we taught Grandma Daisy how to use FaceTime, and the kids are in bed as I write this, no tantrums. Well, "where is the punchline?" you say. This is supposed to be a laugh a day, not this is how I survived the day, by not scheduling anything and just making sure the basics of life were met...a day. Well here it is.

Isaiah and Isla actually both finished dinner at the same time today (usually Isaiah is quick and cranky to get to bed while Isla pretends her vegetables can talk and takes forever to eat), so I thought I would throw them in the tub at the same time to get them off to bed quicker. Sounds sensible, but I should know that for me, it has always been easier to deal with them one at a time, Isaiah first since Isla is distractible. Well, they take a bath, great fun, I am drenched by their vigorous splashing. I get Isla out first, wrap her up and tell her to wait for me on the couch. She throws a mini tantrum because usually after baths we wrap her up and pretend she is a baby. I get Isaiah out, immediately he escapes and runs around the house in the buff. I am fine with that, I happen to think that all babies need to be aired out once a day, to feel what it is like to be free. I get Isla dressed, go to the hallway to pick out some books. And I see this:

Too graphic? Probably.
But why tell you when I can show you?

And so, if you forgot the title of the post, it is "No, That's Not Play-Doh..." I will give you two more guesses. I try to wipe Isaiah between the legs as he is running away from me, finally I scoop him up to the changing table and slap a diaper on him. Then I hear, thump, thump, thump coming from the hallway. If you have been to our new house, you know that when Isla walks or runs on the hardwood, it sounds like a stampede of baby rhinoceros. Rhinoceroses? Rhinoceri? Anyway, it went a little like this:




Me: ISLA DON'T STEP IN THE --
Isla: Wahh, what is that? (crying)
Me: poop.

She then does a furious stamping dance and spreads it in a neat little circle around her. Well, I finish putting on his diaper, leave him in the crib, he is screaming, I am screaming at Isla not to move, she is crying because everyone else is screaming, I wipe her feet, collect the poop, flush it, wash hands, finish putting them to bed, then lysol. I know I waited until the end to lysol but at least I washed my hands.

So yeah, these past two weeks have been fine. And even though I didn't have the foresight to put a diaper on him before I got Isla ready, I know that I am getting better at this mothering business because having him poop on the floor didn't even faze me. At least it wasn't on the rug.