But it's a very good thing that they sometimes do.
Because most days it's the only thing that keeps me from listing them on e-bay.
Take last week for example.
"Last week, Tracye? The whole week? Really?"
Really. The. Whole. Week.
I'll spare you the details, but-- wait! No, I won't spare you the details. This is my blog and this meaningless drivel is what you come here for.
First, a list of the things these two boys attempted to flush down the toilet:
- A pair of underwear
- An entire roll of toilet paper
- A comb
- A pillar candle
I emphasize attempted, because their efforts were thwarted. Which you would think would be reason to celebrate... if you weren't the person that had to thwart those efforts by retrieving said items from the toilet.
God only knows what they succeeded in flushing.
Monday was fairly uneventful (aside from it being Christian's first day of school, in a new district). They really didn't get into much.
Tuesday I've blocked out.
But Wednesday. Ohhhhhhh, Wednesday was a doozy. I never want to see Wednesday again. Or Friday.
It started right after I took Christian to school. I fixed the boys' breakfast and left them to eat their cereal and milk in the kitchen.
Almost immediately, Cavvie started screaming.
I ran in there, only to see his sweet little baby face with rivers of milk cascading down it. He was blinking milk out of his little eyes. If it weren't for the milk covering twenty square feet of the kitchen floor, walls, counter and refrigerator, it would have been funny.
I cleaned it up and moved on.
Two hours later, Cullen decided to fix himself a snack. By the time I realized it, I walked into the kitchen to find the floor and counters covered with every cracker, peanut, and almond we had in the house, as well as a whole bag of caramel popcorn.
I cleaned it up and moved on.
Two hours later, I fixed lunch. I don't even remember what I gave them, except for their drink. I decided to be
He ran, screaming at the injustice, into the kitchen, where he threw (dropped? I don't know) his cup on the floor. That's riiiiiiight. I was cleaning the floor, AGAIN. This time it was sticky slushy.
The rest of the day passed quickly. I put them down for a nap, and a couple hours later, Christian was home from school.
The next morning I was going to a birthday party at a friend's house, and the boys were going to Aunt Laura's. I got them dressed and fed, and then stared working on myself. But that quickly got pushed to the back burner, when Cavan got the Nestle Quik powder out of the pantry, poured it over his head (trying to drink it) and across the kitchen floor. I guess the powder made him thirsty, because he followed that up with a cup of water.
ARE YOU %@&^!#$*%&) KIDDING ME?????
The next day, Friday, was more of the same.
Cullen wanted oatmeal for breakfast, and ended up trying to make it himself. He had a 2-cup pyrex measuring cup packed full of cooked oatmeal. I don't know how he did it so fast (while I was changing Cav's diaper), but it was done. No biggie, right? I just put some of it in a bowl for Cav, and some in a bowl for Cullen. I was proud of how I handled it, given the events of the week.
Next thing I know, they're talking to each other about "cleaning it up," which is NEVER good.
I walk into the kitchen, and they have poured over half a gallon of milk (all that we had in the house) onto their oatmeal. It was mostly in Cullen's giant bowl, but Cavvie had poured a considerable amount into his little bitty bowl. It overflowed, and was running down the counter and onto the floor.
That's when I lost it.
I sent them both to their room, where I baby-gated them while I cleaned up yet another mess.
I transferred all the milk and oatmeal into a pan, and set it on the stove. For the next 30 minutes I stood at the stove, crying and stirring that oatmeal, trying to get all the lumps out and the milk absorbed. I had a measuring cup with SIX CUPS OF COOKED OATMEAL. I hoped the 30 minutes of crying and stirring would soothe my nerves and get all the frustration out.
After it was all cooked together, Cullen asked if they could come out for a snack.
I brought them out and set them at the counter with... more oatmeal.
Cullen asked why I was making them stay in their room, and I couldn't hold back the tears.
"BECAUSE I'M TIRED. BECAUSE ALL YOU TWO DO IS DESTROY. I WORK ON CLEANING UP ONE MESS, AND YOU'RE IN ANOTHER ROOM, MAKING ANOTHER. IT'S RIDICULOUS, AND I'M TIRED. I'M SO SICK OF WATCHING YOU TWO MOVE FROM ROOM TO ROOM TO ROOM DESTROYING EVERYTHING YOU CAN."
All this, while I was shaking and tears were streaming down my face.
Poor Cullen. He sat there at that counter, holding Ganket in his fists, with his fists up to his mouth. He was crying too, but silently. After my tirade, he got down from his stool, walked into his room and laid down on his bed and cried some more.
That day, they got oatmeal. For breakfast, lunch and snack.
And then they went back to their room.
It was fun, let me tell you. Fun for all of us.
That day I started thinking about what kind of work I'm going to start looking for. I'm thinking about something here in our small town (less money but less travel, too) versus driving to the next county for more opportunity.
But I'm guessing all this will just be waiting for me at the end of the workday.
Laundry, cooking, cleaning, messes.
I just don't know if I want to keep fighting this battle, because there are two of them, and only one of me.
And right now they seem to be winning.