the INCIDENT

We had an Incident this morning. You know it has to be serious when it ends up in bold on my blog. This place is a 3 ring circus and let me tell you, I am not in any way, shape, or form the ring leader. Side show freak? Maybe. The title of ringleaders goes to the hooligans that used to hang out in my uterus and their buddies that come over to egg them on, err I mean show support.

Back to the Incident.

For those of you who do not know, I run an in home day care. This basically means I am clinically insane. No, I kid. I’ve never been to the clinic so no official diagnosis.

My sweet angel babies have completely and totally used this situation to their advantage. Mom’s not looking? Sweet. Shove a cracker in the DVD player. Mom’s changing someone else’s diaper? That’s rude. She should only change mine. I should probably take mine off and poop on the couch to keep her in line.

Anyways, part of my job is potty training. I have a very sweet little girl and we are in the trenches right now. Men have been lost. The battle still rages. I may smell like urine. By may, I mean I do. So, it is time for us to visit the potty together again. I clear the living room of all weapons of mass destruction (such as but not limited to: toy brooms, large balls, and fruit snacks), lock both baby gates TIGHTLY and off we go.  This little girl and I spend about 5 minutes in the bathroom. We have an in depth discussion about life, loss, play dough, and Callioux. Unfortunately no pee.

We return to the living room. I do a head count. Anyone with a day care or who just has a bunch of kids knows about head counts. You do them constantly. No soldier left behind. I count 2 heads missing. I’ll let you guess which 2 heads.

As I have previously mentioned, my children know how to work the day care system. I have bought multiple gates. Meara hasn’t met a gate she cannot outsmart. It appears she and Audrey felt the call of the wild. So now I’m in reconnaissance to find my escaped children. I find Meara in her room with the door shut. This has never happened in day care history. Meara doesn’t leave the group. Torment them? Yes. Willingly vacate. No. Alarm bells should be going off at this point, but ignorance is bliss. The search continues for the smaller of my hooligans.

I find her. Oh do I find her. She has shut herself in the other bathroom. Located a cup I have literally never seen. Where is this cup from? Did she stash it in her diaper and travel with it during the escape? Has she been fashioning it out of diaper wipes and cracker particles during nap time to use at the most opportune moment? We will never know. What I do know is Audrey took that cup and bailed out the ENTIRE toilet bowl of water.

Every

Last

Drop

I’m going to repeat this. Audrey bailed out the entire toilet bowl of water onto the floor and was doing her very best impression of a piece of frying bacon rolling around in it. Because she didn’t want me to be sad about the lack of water in the toilet bowl she went ahead and filled it with toilet paper. Because the toilet bowl was lonely empty. And no one likes a lonely toilet.

Of course I very calmly tell her this wasn’t very nice and ask her to leave the room. When that doesn’t work I have my own bacon frying seizure and stick her in my room to clean up. After the Incident is taken care of I go to my bedroom to grab Audrey.

She has found the only source of water in the room. A cup next to my bed, and is currently doing her best impression of either the pope during an important mass, or possible a priest during an exorcism. Literally flinging it everywhere while walking around. You know, because staying in one spot wouldn’t be an effective water dispersal system.

At this point I’ve totally given up. I return to the living room where everyone else, whose parents have managed to raise their children correctly, unlike me, are playing nicely.

Except for my potty trainer. Who is standing in a puddle of her own urine that rivals the amount of water needed to fill the Grand Canyon. At this point all this liquid is personally calling me, so I decide to regroup in the bathroom. I need to either cry or pee, or a combination of the two.

Since my children are criminals in training Meara loves fake tattoos. Her dad tatted us all up last night. We look extremely classy. He put one on my stomach but since I’m huge I couldn’t see it. I hadn’t had time to actually look at myself in the mirror but I decided during this pee and mental sanity break to check it out. What did he give me?  A cute butterfly maybe? Or sweet puppy. No. No he did not.  

 

Yeah, that’s a squirrel.

About being clinically insane. Like I said, no official diagnosis yet.

Signing out,

Mom of the Year.