The other day I had one of those experiences that takes a few days to become funny. The kind of experience that, in the midst of it, I can only endure patiently by imagining the blog I will get from it.
My day had been going pretty much according to normal, which around my house is still slightly different every day. But there had been no major incidents to speak of, no spankings, no huge messes, nothing really remarkable. It was almost 1:00, the magic naptime hour when I can lay three children down and do school with just Abigail. At about 5 minutes before 1:00 (important so that you’ll know the following took place in only a three minute span), I made sure Samuel was not anywhere he shouldn’t be, and took myself to my bathroom for a minute. I was in my bathroom and then my bedroom for three minutes. (I know because I was on Facebook on my iPod and I noticed the time as 12:58 when I turned it off.) Elisabeth came in crying for the hundredth time, clueing me in that it was indeed naptime. So I ushered her out of my room to go round up the others for naptime.
My first clue that something was wrong was the fact that the duck bathroom door was open. I’m trying to instill a new rule in my children to always close the bathroom door because Samuel has a fascination with Elisabeth’s potty, and even when it’s clean and empty, that’s just gross. So the open door was potential for a tragedy. Then next clue was Elisabeth, who was a few steps ahead of me, stopping when she reached the bathroom doorway and saying, “No, no buddy.” Okay, so that confirmed that Samuel was in the bathroom, but I still had hope that he hadn’t done any damage. Hope was quickly dashed to pieces.
Apparently, before coming in and crying to me, Elisabeth had used the potty. Big time. Not just number one, either. And not a nice, solid number two. No, a nice, loose, runny number two. And apparently she forgot to close the door. And apparently Samuel had crawled into the room and headed straight for his favorite object. And apparently he had managed to get the potty out of the stand and dump it. And apparently it was the funnest thing ever, because he had a huge grin on his face. He was splashing his hands in the puddle around him and having the time of his life. (Remember the whole three minute span, okay?) At first I was grossed out, but when I saw the–shall we call it “floaties” so as not to be too crude–I almost threw up.
Elisabeth was on the verge of stepping in, so I literally pushed her out of the room, cried “Stay out of here!” and slammed the door. I took about a two second survey trying to decide what to do first, then swooped Samuel up and plopped him down in the empty bathtub, clothes and all. I would deal with him in a minute. First to clean the floor. Elisabeth must have really downed the apple juice, because there was quite a lake. I grabbed towels and started mopping up. Disgusting. I got the worst of it and got the towels out of the way. While I was mopping, Samuel pulled up holding onto the faucet, slipped on the remaining drops from the previous night’s bath, and fell head first on the drain, which sticks up in our tub. So he’s screaming now, but still incredibly gross because I haven’t stripped him yet. I felt horrible but I was just not going to pick him up as gross as he was, so I just patted his little head and said soothing things to him, mopping the floor the whole time. Abigail heard the screaming, and started to open the door when I screamed–over Samuel’s screaming– “No, no, no!! Do not come in here!!” She was then terrified. Who knows what she thought was going on in there!
I finally got the floor walkable, stripped Samuel, added his clothes to my pile of nastiness, and started his bath water running. (So much for a 1:00 naptime.) While the water was running I called for Abigail to bring me the Lysol and paper towels. She tentatively opened the door to hand them to me, and said, “But Mommy, what are you doing in there?” I told her to wait a minute and shut the door in her face. While Samuel soaked, I sprayed and cleaned the floor and potty. I finally got my gross little dude washed and sanitary once again, and was able to proceed with naptime as usual. I got him dried, redressed, and laid down (with a bruised bump on his forehead from the drain), and was in Abigail’s bed with Elisabeth by 1:18. All that happened in twenty minutes.
These are the incidents that happen with small children, and you don’t even have to have a lot of kids to deal with things like that. But thankfully, this is the kind of thing that only happens once–at least I hope so–and is not the stuff of everyday. I told Clay that I must have seen some of those puppy dog tails that little boys are made of. Samuel, Samuel. You’ll lose your reputation with a few more times like that, boy!