Last night I tucked my child into bed, something I don't get to do enough because I'm rarely home in the evenings. Because of this, when I am home, she demands to go to bed with me. We read two books and while laying there, she told me "you're my most favorite Mommy in the whole wide world." I thanked her and told her she was my most favorite person in the whole wide world and she said, "why thank you, Mommy."
I'll have to remember that next time she tells me she's mad at me.
I was totally flushed on Monday. It was indeed a Monday, not that I know what Mondays feel like for most people, because mine occur after working at least sixteen hours with the naughty society. And then I get to recreate the routine I try so hard to have with my child all over again. Nonetheless, it was indeed a Monday.
I woke up on Monday morning not all that happy to wake up. Bailey had an accident in her bed which is really not that big of a deal. It just meant a load of laundry. I'm okay with that. It was the hour I spent fixing my e-mail mailbox and group mail online because my mailbox was full that annoyed me. Or the fact I discovered my back door had the wind knocked out of it, rather had the glass knocked out due to the wind, leaving shattered glass all over my deck. Or that my child used a roll and a half of toilet paper in the potty and clogged it up, and instead of telling her mother, distracted her mother, convinced her mother to play with her only to tell her mother an hour later, "No, don't go in there, you can't go in there!" for her mother to discover in absolute horror that water was all over the bathroom in its still-being-remodeled state and was still running. If you understood any of that rambling, it meant a lot of water and me with my "oh my gosh things are going to mold" paranoia running around trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do.
It's not the first time she's done such a thing either. And it's not so much the waste of toilet paper. Or the clog. It's the not telling me it happened that placed her on the list of shame. It left me a little flushed to say the least. And we're going to be rationing toilet paper for years to come after this as well perhaps checking the state of the bathroom every single time she exits the premises. And hopefully someday my carpet outside of the bathroom and the basement will dry. Because the water creeped under the door as well as to the floor below. Water everywhere. Good times.
I must say though, after working as a Mommy all day, going to work in the evening after a day like that really is like play time. Even if I was a little flushed.
Meow.
Bailey was creating some masterpieces on the dining room table, decorating the works with stickers. She found some cat stickers and appropriately said that the kitties say, "meow." Of course. We've known that forever. But then she nonchalantly added, "a snail says 'meow' too."
I think I'm attributing that tiny bit of false information to the ever-educational Spongebob Squarepants. Sigh.
Bailey told me her bottom hurt and was kind of rubbing it. "It happened yesterday," she said. "Daddy did it yesterday."
"...With a hammer."
Now I expressed to her my doubts that such an act with a hammer would have occurred to which she answered, "but why?"
Then a few minutes later she admitted that her "hip still hurts."
"I think a monster scratched it." She then told me that she needed something to make it feel better. She had me kiss her hip and then said she still needed something else to make it feel better. Her suggestion? "Dessert."
We put it in the suggestions box, but her request has yet to be fulfilled.
She calls this one, "Daddy," as if I should have to clue you in. It's too obvious.
More from the gallery to come later.
