Aaaaah. Lookee here! This evening I find myself on our little fold-out futon bed, which has relocated from the “computer area” of our house, also known as the “in-law suite” since the girls showed up almost two years ago. Moms and aunties from both sides of the family have stayed in this auspicious area of our house, aiding me at ungodly hours of the night with howling crazy babies during the early months. Going from full-on pregnancy to full-on not being preggers can take something out of a gal, literally. The aunts and grandmoms really stepped up and helped a sistah out.
And here I am. Up late, listening to the dishwasher scour the days dishes. Feeling the ceiling fans whisk away any unsavory odors from the first floor of our little rowhouse.
The past few weeks have been frenzied. Lots of action in the extended family. Lots of playdates and our new favorite, “playground” play. I also leave the girls alone to figure out different ways to entertain themselves and one another during the days. Their most recent rottenness has emerged as removing their diapers just for the hell of it. Sure, there are probably a number of good reasons — aside from the best reason.. no pants — that a toddler (or anyone else) would want to do such a thing outside of the budoir. Here’s a short list of good reasons to run around with your pants off:
- because you can
- it is funny
- the act makes your mama super mad
- it is something else to do
- diapers are for BABIES
I’m confident the list goes on and on, but you catch my drift. I get mad because I don’t like cleaning and I don’t want to try to get poop out of furniture or rugs. To their credit, Mimi and Beenie haven’t really gotten into the defecate and smear phase of things. I hope the thought never crosses their minds. There have, however, been a few brazen incidents of people (Mimi, you know who you are) urinating on the floor, though they have been few considering how fun it must be just to do whatever the fuck you want to do where and whenever the fuck you want to do it without people thinking you’re mentally ill. All toddlers are mentally ill. Shit, everyone is mentally ill. But I’m straying from the point, whatever it was.
Tomorrow is an unusual hiccup in my daily routine of baby raising. The husband and me and the ladies are gassing up the Element, filling it with things we may or may not need, and heading south to North Carolina to hang with his family for a long weekend. I’m someone who really needs unpredictable days thrown into the day in/day out days or I start to get depressed. Mini road trips are good because the scenery is changing, and in this case there will be more people around who can distract Beenie and Mimi from being destructive. Being at home gets boring for everyone. Maybe they can keep their pants on at their Grandparents place. Cross your fingers.
We now come to the reason I’m downstairs instead of in the bedroom upstairs… it’s because hubbo has a sore throat and frankly, I’d like to steer clear of that. Maybe my chances of catching whatever he caught will be lessened if I don’t sleep next to him in the same room for a night or two. Gotta hedge your bets. Two sick parents are pretty useless guardians for two people who have enough energy to power the City of Baltimore for a year every second of every day. The minute you show weakness is the minute everything falls to crap. Besides, I’m the designated long-distance driver for the pack of peeps in my house. I needs my beauty sleep!
Go to sleep. Goodnight, sleep tight.