Tall Stack Morning

Well, we're having one of those days my mom warned me I would have. The kind that makes me want to print off this blog post and keep copies on hand for the next person who tells me how much easier it must be for me that I just stay home with the children.

I got up this morning, greeted by Luke with a huge smile on his face. "Good morning, Mommy!" he said so cheerfully. "Good morning," I replied with a smile. "I sorry," he said. "Sorry? For what?" I asked. He ran off to play with his pirate ship without so much as a reply, and I dismissed his apology. Kids! They're so silly. Little did I know that his apology was actually a prophesy.

I got to work making my boy some pancakes. Luke loves pancakes, and that's an understatement. He loves pancakes so much that sometimes, he asks to watch videos of pancakes on YouTube. Can you believe people write songs about pancakes and record them for YouTube? So there I was in the kitchen, a flapjack-flippin' fool, a scene that would no doubt bring a tear to Aunt Jemima's eye, and Luke was at the table scarfing them down, asking for more, more, more pancakes please. I absentmindedly brought the bottle of syrup out of the kitchen and put it on the table as I brought Luke his third and final round. I absentmindedly left it on the table as I attended to hungry George and started feeding him his fruit and rice cereal. *foreshadowing*

After I fed George, I got up from the table to get a wet washcloth to clean up George's pear & blueberry encrusted face and hands. When I returned to the table, Luke had emptied George's box of rice cereal all over himself, the table, his chair, and the floor. No big deal, I told myself. It's just what kids do. I went to the hall closet and pulled out my diaper bag, put it on the floor and pulled out the vacuum cleaner from behind it. I absentmindedly left my diaper bag on the floor. *foreshadowing*

I went about our morning routine and put the baby down for his nap. When I came out, I found that Luke had broken into the most important thing I keep in my diaper bag--my vast stockpile of lipsticks. He was glossing Dolley up, and frankly, he had chosen a terrible color for her. No big deal, I told myself. It's just what kids do. I gathered all my precious lipsticks and glosses and wiped down a few surfaces that he had smeared.

With George in his bed, I figured it would be a good idea to get a leg up on my beauty regimen. Joe would be home early, and we were all going to go out for a nice lunch to celebrate today being his graduation day--he now holds a master's degree in public administration! I was putting some finishing touches on my hair when my mother called. I put her on speaker phone and laughed as I recalled the events of my morning. Luke then appeared at the gate in my doorway and asked me, "Would you wash my hands?" I laughed as I asked my mom, "Any bets as to why Luke wants his hands washed?"

I came out to the living room and was nearly brought to my knees as I surveyed the grisly scene. "Oh no!" I shouted. "WHAT?!?!" my mom asked. "Maple syrup. It's everywhere." "I'll let you go," she said. I looked at Luke like oh no you didn't and he looked at me like oh hell yes I did. Conveniently, George woke up crying about this time. I ignored my poor baby's cries as I looked around for a moment, shellshocked. It was everywhere--on the furniture, all over the floor, all over the dog, who was wagging her tail like Christmas came early!

I threw the dog in the bath and started washing her, furiously. Luke stood there crying that he wanted his hands washed, that he didn't want Dolley to play with his bath toys, and that he didn't want Dolley to have a bath at all. I think the last part was sympathy--would you believe that Luke is uncooperative in the bathtub? That he hates the water and bucks like a bronco when I try to wash his hair? I wiped out the tub and put Luke in it while I went around wiping surfaces with spray cleanser. And I'm ashamed to admit it, but I rolled up my rug, taped it up, and threw it outside for the trash. Were my furniture not leather, I'm not so sure it would have been spared. I returned to the bathroom, where I washed Luke down. At the risk of you thinking I'm a mean, sadistic mother, I'll tell you that I didn't feel one iota of guilt when I dumped water over that child's head and he cried about it in protest. Then, I went into poor George's room and started feeding him.

Joe came home a few minutes later to find a sobbing wife. I told him about our morning. He listened, shaking his head. He then told me, "Oh, by the way, I signed us up for the children's Christmas party." The squadron party where Santa will taxi in on a T-6 and deliver toys to the children. "Oh swell," I replied, "I'll get a lump of coal to wrap up for Luke."

Joking aside, I've already bought Luke's present for the Christmas party. I don't think I can give it to him, though. See, I bought him a book called Curious George Makes Pancakes, and I don't think I need a curious little monkey to give the child any more ideas.