Someday...
When you are recovering from a really intense THIRTY minute workout.
I mean, *phew.*
You get the kids on the bus.
You feed the babies...
And you think, "Wow. I'm really tired. That's pathetic. I shouldn't be tired from thirty minutes on an elliptical. But...I am really tired."
When you look at the dirty kitchen you should be cleaning and children you should be dressing, and think again, "I am really tired."
When the t.v. that is mounted to the wall starts beckoning you with promises of free babysitting. When it promises you that your children will be so entertained by whatever it is spewking out--they won't think to cause havok. When it tempts you with thoughts of sleeping past six a.m. for the first time in a month.
Do the right thing and say, "GET BEHIND ME SATAN!!"
Or you may or may not wake up from THE most blissful slumber by the little voice of your son saying, "Mom. I so, so sorry. I so, so, so, sorry. I was haynding from da turtain rod...and it fell. It fell ALL da way down. I pulled it from da wall. I so sorry. So, so, so sorry."
You may or may not run out into the living room really ticked off, only to find the curtain rod was indeed pulled, "...all da way down." And you may or may not find your daughter covered in not one...not two...but three very expensive, goopy hair products. You may find that she found it necessary to cover her entire face, portions of her legs, her hands, and her arms. But not a drop in her hair. As that was the only part of her body she couldn't reach with precision. You may find that goop on carpet, on the couch, and on her sister's coloring books.
And finally, you may decide that no, you will not take any pictures of the event, because...you are too angry. And they aren't even cute. Little punks. Little deviant, destructive, disastrous children. Why do they have to act so...so...so much their age?
Is it so wrong to leave a 22-month-old and a three-and-a-half-year-old alone for almost two hours? Unattended, and only supervised in that you groggily remember saying yes, they could have more bananas and to please put the peels in the trash can. You were present in body...but your spirit was far away. Dreaming of a clean house, swimming in a triathlon and beating EVERYONE, and finally getting to pick your husband up from the airport for R&R.
Not that any of this happened to me.
I would never be such a delinquent parent.
And, IF I were...I suspect that this would teach me a lesson or two...
(By the way. I found SIX banana peels in the trash can this morning. SIX.)
