I don’t know what went on at my house in the wee hours of Saturday morning -nor will I ever.
I spent the entirety of Saturday in the city with my family. I was looking forward to a day away from it all (I think because I had actually FORGOTTEN that I have a two and three year old). The day wasn’t full of family fun and togetherness. It was more full of lectures and chasings (not the fun kind) and full blown exhaustion. In fact, I’m still recovering. I can count on one hand the number of times I smiled yesterday. I was just plain too tired to even pretend to have any energy.
The darlings fell asleep in the car seats on the way home, and I happily put them into bed. My husband and I dumped ourselves on the couch in front of some mindless television shows in an attempt to escape the reality of our exhaustion. One hour into it, our daughter came out asking for water. My husband took care of her while I took myself to our bed and cracked open my brand new book filled with Robert Frost poetry. Literally two lines into it, I fell asleep.
Sunday morning, I cracked one blind eye open and reached for my glasses. As I reached, my hands knocked over my poetry book and something else. Something paper. Something I hadn’t remembered leaving on the pillow next to me.
Three index cards, written on by a child, rolled up scroll-style, and held together by a hair tie taken from my bathroom vanity.
I rolled over to see if my husband was awake. I could ask him about it.
But he wasn’t there.
My daughter was in his place.
“Sweetie,” I whispered, “Did you do this?” I held up the papers.
“Oh!” she wiped the sleep from her eyes, “Yes! For you to read!”
“Thank you,” I replied, “Did daddy help you?”
“Nope! I did it to myself!”
That’s what I was afraid of. I threw my glasses on and instantly starting scanning my room. I looked that the computer desk. My favorite pen was lying out on, obviously the one used to make the faux scrolls.
A pile of papers had been thrown off the computer desk.
That was it. Nothing much more. I crept out of bed to see the rest of the house.
As I passed by the kids’ room, I found my husband curled up in my daughter’s Tinkerbell sheets.
Next to him was my daughter’s tot-sized wooden kitchen playset. I keep all of her kitchen dishes and gadgets in a three-drawer organizer. All of the drawers were completely open and completely empty.
“Sweetie!” I whispered, “What happened last night?”
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“I fell asleep on the couch,” he said, “And when I woke up, our daughter was sitting at the table playing with a huge jar full of buttons.”
I had managed to buy enough buttons at Michael’s that day to fill my button jar to the tip top.
It runneth over.
“I got her down from the table,” he continued, “And put her into bed. She refused to sleep in her bed because she was scared, so I put her in bed with you and I slept in her bed.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding, “Where’s the kitchen stuff?”
He looked next to him at the empty bins.
“I have no idea.”
About then, our daughter made her appearance wearing a floor-length flannel night gown.
“I sleep in you bed!” She told us.
“Yeah,” we nodded.
“And I just did! And I got in bed and wiggled, wiggled, wiggled!” She said.
As she re-enacted her wiggles, I watched a few of my make-up samples fall out of her dress.
“Hey!” I said, “Is that my make-up?”
“Yeah,” she grinned, “I got it to myself.”
I have no clue what went on in my house.
None at all.
I’m still looking for the kitchen toys and I’m still finding bits and pieces of make up all over my house.
But what can you do?
With a girl THAT cute, what can you do?
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