It's funny how fast babies go from cute pallet-on-the-floor accessories, capable of little more havoc than the occassional spit up or didn't-get-the-diaper-on-fast-enough mess, to destructive demolition experts, with the speed and accuracy, or inaccuracy, of a seasoned expert. That is where we are. At this very moment.
Carl had several things going on this week that resulted in me spending the evenings alone with the boys. Alone to try to cook dinner, clean up dinner, pick up the mounds of toys lying around my house, only to have both boys creating new mounds behind me as I went. Well, if you've ever had a curiuos one-year old, you probably know that planning to accomplish anything more than chasing them around the house as they go from one room to another, and another, and then back again is pretty pointless. But, even though I know it, it's like I just haven't accepted it. I still try to multitask. When will I learn?
A few nights ago, while Carl was gone I was hurrying around the kitchen trying to get all the droplets of food pieces off the floor beneath Keaton's high chair, mentally groaning because I had JUST steam cleaned the floors the night before. The boys were playing, and since I didn't hear the sound that makes my radar go off, screaming, I assumed all things were fine. Or at the very least non-emergency related. After quickly throwing a load of laundry in the washer, laundry that probably consisted of whites, colors, maybe even a diaper (It's happened. Couple of times), and who knows what else all mixed in together due to lack of time and concentration on my part, I walked into the living room to make my rounds. There sat Keaton, with the fireplace door opened, covered in gray ash with a nice thick ring around his mouth where he had taken a few tastes. Around him were handprints covering my floors. The floors that had just been steam cleaned, I have to throw that in there. I know, I need to just get over it. My floors have absolutely no chance of staying clean for more than an hour. If both boys are present and awake, probably not even that long.
After the initial shock, I took my little pain in the "ash", to the bath tub. Was that completely inappropriate? It just fit so nicely... Since it wasn't quite bedtime I let Keaton play a little longer. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but I never seem to. I went to do a few more things in the kitchen because I just can't stand to have dishes laying around waiting to be cleaned. No loud sounds coming from the TV room. Just the soft voice of Steve on Blues Clues coming from the TV and the occasional sounds of plastic being hit together as Cale drove his tractors around the room. So glad that the boys were letting me get a few things done, I stuck my head in the TV room to check on them. Keaton had somehow, with his Stretch-Armstrong-like reach pulled over the trash can which we had resorted to putting on top of an end table, out of his reach. Or so we thought. Every piece of trash was strewn out across the floor, including pieces of food and crackers that Cale had disposed of. Keaton was sitting in the middle of the mess, chowing down on trash- bucket goldfish crackers, happy as can be. So, I had my 900th mess to clean up that night. Well, it felt like 900.
So by tonight, Friday night, I was completely worn out. Since every Friday night I go on a much-anticipated cooking strike, we headed out to eat. Due to the boys' behavior, we opted for casual and quick: Taco Villa. The whole dinner was a mess. Cale was fairly loud and Keaton was completely restless. He kept throwing his food on the floor, dropping his sippy cup on the floor, pulling himself to a standing position in the high chair, and reaching for anything he could get his hands on. It got to the point that I decided I was done eating and Carl decided to take his meat and bean nacho home to eat it. So, we began the process of loading everything up and trying to get out of there. Which is no easy feat. I was frustrated and tired and still a little hungry. Suddenly our Stretch-Armstrong son stretched far enough to reach the styrofoam box holding Carl's meal. The meat and bean nacho poured down Carl's leg and onto the floor.
I don't know if I finally snapped or what, but I just started laughing. Laughing hard. Carl gave me a look that could kill, so I tried to wipe the smile off my face. While Carl took the boys out to the car, I leaned down and after about 10 napkins, had most of the nacho mess cleaned up. I laughed the whole way to the car. Carl still had that look on his face. He talked about his precious nachos for about 10 minutes while driving down the road. But, to ease the pain we stopped at Taco John's to get him some food.
I still don't think the incident is even remotely amusing to Carl. Wasting a Taco Villa meat and bean nach could never be laugh-worthy to him. But, maybe in a few days.
Sometimes all you can do is laugh when life throws difficult times at you...or in this case...nachos.
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