Mom of Two Part...Three? It Feels Like Nine Thousand.

We are rockin’ today. Doing laundry. Doing dishes. Meal planning. Grocery shopping. IRONING, for God’s sake. We are the CEO of the home. We are an efficient homemaking machine. Yeeha! But then the migraine fairy, who is always sitting on our left shoulder, starts to cackle. Hee, hee, HEE.

It starts when I am on the phone, because it always starts when I am on the phone. I should blow up the phone, and then maybe these things wouldn’t happen. I step in to the Kidderito’s room with some laundry and am hit by a wall of...smell. Yes, it’s that smell. The smell that every parent dreads. The smell of the potty-training child taking things, literally, into her own hands.

I hang up the damn phone. Trudge downstairs, take sweet child’s face into hands, ask gently, “Is there something you forgot to tell me?” “Um...no?” “Are you sure?” “Um, did I poop?” “Yes, you did.” We march up the stairs with rags and cleaner. “Look, I used two pull-ups, one for each poop! And I cleaned my own self up!” Sigh. Scrub, scrub, scrub. “Mama, you did a good job of cleaning that mess!” Thank you, dear, polite child of mine.

I foolishly get back on the phone. Yak yak, hi Mom, how do you make mashed potatoes? The bathroom door slams. This is always a bad sign. I open the door and see my darling child, who now has tomato-red hands, surreptitiously trying to wash them. Sigh. The wee one starts screaming her I-am-stuck-under-the-LaZBoy scream and I run. There is nothing obvious wrong. Nurse nurse nurse, change diaper, put her down, she’s still screaming. Sling her onto hip, head back to the bathroom. “I washed my hands, Mama!” She dances into the kitchen, and when I turn to go, there I see...a wall of red handprints. “Um, sweetie, is there something else you forgot to tell me?” She gives me a genuinely quizzical look. “No?” Shaking of small brown head. “Did you do some art?” “Oh, I made some handprints!” “You know what, sweetie, that is NOT OK.” “I’m sorry Mama. Will you clean it up?” “No, YOU are going to clean it up.” More rags, more cleaner. “Mama, are you going to still be grumpy when I am done cleaning?” Grrr.