ACK! ACK! ACK!
First, let me state that this is NOT my potty, not my house. We are visiting, accepting the gracious hospitality of our hosts. It is also not my food.
This, of course, makes the entire incident worse.
My sister, last night, said, "Your ONE CHILD is more trouble than all four of mine plus their four friends and the little boy from up the street, who is a preteen. She makes me tired."
This from the woman who regularly has seven children at any given time in her house, at least six of whom are 7 and under.
Let me recap my morning and tell you what the pitter patter of little feet mean around my house (again, NOT MY HOUSE):
Scene: Mom and Dad in bed asleep. Mom has about three hours under her belt, Dad about one. The morning light has broken, birds are twittering.
Act 1: Am awakened by slamming door noise and baby jumping on my chest, repeatedly. With giggles. She has emptied the armoire and the clothes are all over the floor.
React 1: I crank open my eyelids, drag my weary body from bed, make my husband refold all the clothes and put them back, and begin rehearsing my apology (again, another one) to my hostess. I decide downstairs for breakfast is the best thing.
Scene: The kitchen, 8 a.m.
Act 2: The baby has dumped an entire package of Cheerios on the floor
React 2: I stoop over to scoop up Cheerios (which, may I say, have a nasty habit of rolling away, usually towards floor vents), withmy bum wagging and flagging all passers-by with the cheerful inscription, "Rock and ROLL!" in hot pink.
Act 3: While mom is thusly occupied, the baby smears banana all over floor.
React 3: More bum wagging and flagging by me while wiping up smushed banana, yelling, "BACK! BACK! Do NOT walk in this kitchen, there is...OH NO NO NO, FREEZE!" to the curious rubber-neckers attempting to get a closer gander, nearly stepping in the mess.
Act 4: Older child, seeing an opening and being ignored while I track dangerous younger child, decides to make eggs. "Oh no Mom, it broke ALL OVER..."
React 4: Strip older child, get fresh outfit, bleach table and floor to clean up raw egg.
Act 5: Empty the sippy cup and plastic drawer for the 25th time.
React 5: Yell and clean up again.
And on...and on...and on. All before 9 a.m.
The encore? You see it above. (The photo.)
My younger, my monkey...gets a cheese stick for dessert. Miss Monkey May stands up in the high chair. Eldest Cousin gets her down, thinking to save the Divine Miss M's neck. My husband makes the questionable decision to let her wander with food. Somebody left open the bathroom door, with the potty lid up.
You guessed it.
Mr. Cheese went flushy flushy.
I first learned of the incident while sitting at the table. My husband said, "Miss Monkey May, where is your cheese stick?"
Miss Monkey May giggles, and ducks her chin down to her shoulder, with a little eyebrow flash and eye wink.
"Show me where your cheese stick is, take Daddy to your cheese stick."
She grabs his hand, gurgling and giggling and leads him to the guest bath. Lifts the potty lid. Points. Giggles some more.
My husband says, "ACK! ACK! ACK! You DID NOT! OMG, you DID. Juuuuuuulllllllesssssssss!!!!!!!"
I grabbed the camera, shot a photo, penned a tremendously long apology note to our hostess and hit the road.
I'm writing this in the plastic surgeon's office. I'm thinking we would look GREAT as Brad and Angelina. Yes? The baby can go back to black hair.
By Julie Pippert
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© 2006. All images and text exclusive property of Julie Pippert. Not to be used or reproduced.