Just a Typical Monday Night?

                     Libby and Meg 

5:00pm Monday of an unexpected 3-day weekend. (School was cancelled due to a water mane break.) Me home with 3 girls. Husband in field.

Supper in the oven. (Tonight it’s frozen pizza.  Don’t judge.)

I lure all 3 little ladies into the play room—ages 2, 6, 9. And I set a timer for 6 minutes. That’s the time Brooke (age 9) picked when I told her to pick a number between 6 and 10. (She’s not stupid.)

Ready….set…go!  The four of us work together to pick up the playroom that looks like a tornado has literally hit it. 

Crayons.

Crayon wrappers. (Why do kids unpeel those?)

Uno Moo pieces.

Doll house parts.

The timer goes off. The room looks less like a force of nature has destroyed it.

Brooke (age 9) asks, “Meg, did you poop?”  I vaguely register the question, still focusing on the last few miniscule pieces of crayon wrapper on the floor.

Play room picked up. I move to the neighboring sun room to pick up a few lingering items. I turn.

Meg (age 2) stands in the doorway, a bag of Scooby snacks in her hand. Her leggings are wrapped around her ankles, and she waddles towards me. I’m slightly alarmed.

Meg says in her cute little toddler voice, “Meg pooped.” (She doesn’t use pronouns yet. She talks about herself in the third person like a classic episode of Seinfeld.)

And almost like in slow motion, she brings her right hand from behind her back. It is covered in poop. The left hand brings another Scooby snack to her mouth.

Oh the horror. The absolute freaking horror.

Brooke (age 9) screams, “Mom, she’s isn’t wearing her diaper.”

Meg (age 2) giggles, “Meg took it off. Meg pooped in it.”

I swiftly control all hands so nothing (food or other substance) enters her mouth. I arms-fully-extended carry Meg to her room. I clean all offending parts covered in fecal matter. I’m silently repeating to myself, “I love my life. I love my life. I love my life.” If I say it enough times, I’ll convince myself, right?

Meg giggles….that I-know-I’m-cute-and-I-just-got-away-with-something giggle.

I say, “Meg, let mommy take off your diaper if it has poop in it.”

Meg replies, “Otay Mommy.”

I think I need a glass (or bottle) of wine.