I was happily dreaming about what chocolate dessert I wanted to order (seriously. I could see them all, and I wanted them all) from some restaurant I've never been to, when I heard a noise that wasn't restauranty.
It's a word. Trust me.
Anyway, I slowly came awake, only to realize both boys were crying. Grumpily I looked at my bedside clock: 9:45 (I know!). I jumped out of bed and ran maniacally around the house gathering breakfast for Cullen and me, and all my nursing paraphernalia for Chubs.
I went into their room and picked up a snotty, blubbering Cullen. Immediately I felt that his diaper had failed overnight. His clothes, bedding and ganket were soaked. I stripped him down and ran warm water for a bath. Washing him took less than a minute, so I tried to get him out, but he had become fascinated by some new tub toys and wanted to stay in.
I let him, and went to get Gigantor. After I changed his diaper we settled in together for breakfast. Soon after, my SIL called to let me know she
didn't feel like working today was home with a sick boy and we got to talking. During a pause in the conversation, I noticed strange sounds coming from the bathroom. It almost sounded like empty bottles being squirted into the tub, but that could not be, since the bottles of shampoo and conditioner were full.
Apparently, he decided he needed bubbles. In his mind, the best way to achieve that is to empty a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner into your bath. Great.
I got him out, dried him off, and got him dressed. Then I went to pick up Fatty McButterpants, who was quite offended that he had been put down, and was not shy about letting me know.
After I calmed him down, I realized the house was too quiet, so I went to check on Cullen. He was in Christian's room, gleefully spreading the money from her piggy bank around the floor. Ugh. I told him to put every coin back. We went through this exact scenario about a month ago, so I thought it was a job he could handle.
I headed for the ringing phone, and left him to his task. After I hung up, I went back to see his progress. There was quite a bit, actually. See, he had found a bag full of
crap magnetic letters, numbers, animals and vehicles, and decided to throw them around her bed like he was throwing beads at Mardi Gras.
Deep breaths. Serenity now.
Once again, I instructed him to clean up. And once again, I headed off to take care of the myriad other things I had to do, i.e. change Rascall Fatts.
Upon next check-up, I discovered that he had moved on to bigger and better things: her closet. He had pulled books from the shelves, pulled down all the games and cards, and spread them over the remaining visible carpet in her room. The carpet that I had spent Monday morning vacuuming and steam cleaning, but I digress. By this time, I gave up trying to get him to clean it up. It just wasn't worth it.
He wanted to watch Caillou, so I put it on for him.
I was cleaning the kitchen when, once again, I realized the house was very quiet. I headed to his room, but instead found him on the floor in his bathroom, spraying Windex on everything, and wiping it up with toilet paper. "I cleanin,' Mama!" He proudly told me. His underwear was actually blue, and soaked with the spray. So, I grabbed him up, wiped him down, and called the number on the bottle. The lovely people at S.C. Johson assured me that Windex is 80% water, plus a little alcohol, and as long as he wasn't acting drunk, he'd be okay. I thanked them, hung up, and called Poison Control, since the idiots at S.C. Johnson clearly had no clue what they were talking about. The Poison Control people told me the same thing, and said to give him a sugary snack or drink.
I got a cold root beer out of the fridge and sat him on the couch to watch "A Goofy Movie." He was sooo excited! A whole root beer, in the can, all to himself. He took a sip, and then poured it all over the cushion.
Are you freaking kidding me???
I changed his underwear (for what, the 17th time today?) and sent him to his room.
It was noon.