One day I may thank my children for the abundance of material they provide for my writing. But right now, it seems as if I am a part of some elaborate practical joke meant to test the limits of my sanity. This weekend was no exception.
On Friday, I returned home from a four day class trip to Quebec City. It was a fantastic and nostalgic trip as I can vividly remember my own grade eight trip there some twenty years ago. But I was only home for a pit stop and after arriving home late Friday night, I was off to Toronto by noon on Saturday.
Moments before we were to get into the car, my youngest decided to play with the toilet. Any parent who has ever been busy knows that an occupied child, whatever they may be doing, is a beautiful thing. Our toilet however, has been acting up, and I should have known better. I heard the toilet flush once and then again and I looked over just in time to see the water pouring over the side of the bowl and flowing like a river to the other end of the bathroom. A master under pressure, I began screaming and wasn’t sure whether to save the laundry basket or the child first. I went for the basket and then scooped up the misfit. I then grabbed all of our shower towels and threw them on the toilet water. Gross. Will they ever truly be clean again?
I then had to get on my hands and knees to try and sop up as much ‘water’ as I could. I was now sweating as well. Great. I couldn’t be bothered to get out the mop (I’m not even sure I know where it is) and I was tempted to just walk away. But then I saw the Chlorox Wipes and figured they were as good as anything.
Fast forward to the drive home where I took an hour detour to avoid a probably 20 minute delay due to an accident. My navigational skills are questionable on a good day and I wasn’t really in the mood for a scenic tour around the Niagara Escarpment but that is exactly what I got. This hiccup can’t be blamed on the kids but I thought I’d throw it in for good measure.
Back at home, I was trying to catch up on a week’s worth of work. The girls were in our bedroom and I had given the youngest my nail polish to play with. I know, what was I thinking? From downstairs I could hear her banging them together. I went up and asked her, a two year old, to be careful. Am I out of my mind? A complete idiot could see where this was going. But, happy that she was still occupied, I went back downstairs to carry on with my jobs. Not more than 30 seconds later Mia called for me to come fast. My body moved toward the stairs but my mind was telling me to run anywhere but my bedroom. When I got to my room, I saw what I knew I would see…I just wasn’t sure in what colour.
There on my white carpet, only feet from the poo stain was an entire bottle of bright pink nail polished smashed on the floor. There was no reaction from me - just a long, defeated sigh. I am officially numb to any destruction my children can cause. I knew there would be no way to clean this up. I gave it a futile effort but I only made it worse. This time the babe looked up and kept telling me, “Clean it up! Clean it up!”
I decided to have a shower as I was sweating (again) and I reeked of nail polish remover. Yes, I dumped buckets of nail polish remover on my carpet. While in the shower, my older daughter came barging in with my crying two year old to tell me she had fallen down the stairs. Seriously people – I’m not making this shit up.
I have included pictures this time as proof of the incident. As you can see, my efforts to clean up only made it worse. I am now in the market for an area rug. Lucky for me, I don’t think I’ll ever run out of things to write about.
The Crime Scene...
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