5:10 p.m. - Leave Work.
5:20 p.m. - Pick up child from day care.
5:35 p.m. - Get home, divest child of snowgear, admire his artwork, wash his hands. Feed cats. Fill humidifier.
5:45 p.m. - Make dinner. It's late in the week, so it's cobbled-together leftovers.
5:55 p.m. - Child comes into kitchen and drops 6-inch by 6-inch cube of building blocks on top of your foot, proclaims that he is Wall-e. Grind teeth until pain passes.
6:00 p.m. - Set table and call child to dinner. Child consumes entire glass of milk and proclaims himself full.
6:01 p.m. - Child grips stomach and complains he's dying. Send child into bathroom.
6:02 p.m. - Eat in peace and quiet.
6:07 p.m. - Because you have learned to eat like a starved honey badger in the few minutes you can scrounge up between obligations, dinner is consumed and dishes are already done.
6:08 p.m. - Settle onto couch with book.
6:18 p.m. - Spring from couch when you realize the house has been silent for 17 minutes. Open bathroom door to find child standing in front of the closed toilet, completed naked.
You: Are you done?
Child: Yes.
You: What's going on in the toilet?
Child: Nothing!
6:19 p.m. - Open toilet lid. Find 1/2 a roll of Charmin settled uneasily on top of...something wretched. Explain to child why we use less toilet paper. Child, upon hearing the word "clog" for the first time, runs from the bathroom.
6:20 p.m. - Begin the painstaking process of progressively flushing small amounts of the toilet's contents, using the toilet brush as a dam.
6:21 p.m. - TP disintegrates; dam fails. Overcome by drama, cat pukes in hallway outside bathroom.
6:23 p.m. - Power-walk past child, who is naked, clutching his clothes to his chest, and on the brink of tears. Explain it's time for Plan B. Tears.
6:23:30 p.m. - Retrieve toilet plunger from other bathroom, begin Plan B. Outside the door, cat #2 steps in cat #1's puke, gets mad, commences to beat cat #1. Separate cats with foot.
6:25 p.m. - Plan B complete. Clean bathroom. Dress child. Wipe tears. Clean up puke.
6:30 p.m. - Decide to refill soap dispenser. Child drops 6-inch by 6-inch cube of building blocks on your foot. Soap everywhere.
Child: Wall-eeeee.
It's only amusing because it didn't happen to me... I'm so sorry. *there, there*
ReplyDeleteIt was absurdly amusing to me at the time. We must laugh at these goings-on, so that we don't walk out of the house, never to return.
DeleteBeen there. Done that. Gotta love parenthood. :)
ReplyDeleteI figured this would be familiar to some. :)
Delete* suppresses laughter* Oh my! You poor thing. *hugs*
ReplyDeleteI...can totally hear you laughing still. :D
DeleteHorrible yet hilarious. Like so many of your stories. Lol
ReplyDeleteOk...tried my darndest to comment this AM and now with my Wordpress login but your blog doesn't like me. Grr.
ReplyDeleteAny-who...we trained our younguns early to unclog the toilet. Picking up cat barf remains rocket science to them for some odd reason.
Somehow your gross-out threshold increases exponentially when you have children. I remember my dad trying to catch the contents of my stomach with his hands when I had the flu and couldn't quite make it to the bathroom.
ReplyDeleteThat is...heroically disgusting. But yes, I never thought I'd be doing some of the things I'm doing. Or that I'd be capable of some of them. I'm actually a big impressed, even though many days are like episodes of Fear Factor.
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