This is an old tale that has been told many times before and will continue to be told. We typically know this tale through oral history but any parent can write their own version. The difference is that my tale ends in a tail…
This past weekend my husband had to work a bunch (aka “take a vacation” around these parts) so I manned the ship. No, I WOmanned the ship.
The twins needed a bath so Aspen hopped in with them. It was very cute and I didn’t take any pictures – of course. I take out Hart while Girly Girl starts scraping on the door to come in. Dog paws mixed with splash remnants on the floor transform into muddy paw-prints EVERYWHERE. So I run downstairs with a naked baby in one arm and a hyper dog in the other, hoping not to trip down the non-code-conforming staircase that was built in 1930. Aspen and Hayes are alone in the tub for the duration of Operation: Get The Dog In Her Kennel so I’m praying they don’t drown (either by accident or homicide because Aspen has recently gotten a lot of laughs out of what I call “cow tipping” except its performed on 10-month-old Edmonds twins).
Aspen and Hayes survived but I know I got another wrinkle out of that fear (“It only takes you turning your back and your kids WILL drown in the tub!” playing on repeat in my brain).
Next up: Aspen. Easy peasy. The hard part is trying to get Hayes to stop standing up in the tub while trying to dress a cold baby who I’ve just lotioned up. But Aspen is fine.
Hayes out. Now I have all three.
When I hear a splashing sound behind me. Aspen is peeing on me. ON ME!!!!!
Now, let me create a picture of this scene for you real quick. The bathroom we are in is tiny, there’s room for a very standard sized tub, a toilet, and a single sink vanity. I have three naked children plus myself in this very small area. It is covered in muddy paw prints that I’ve tried to cover with the kids’ towels. Aspen is poop trained and will potty on the toilet when she isn’t wearing a Pull-Up. EXCEPT NOW.
Because Aspen thinks it’s effing hilariousssss when I turn around and very loudly say “Aspen!” I told her I was disappointed. She laughs. I told her I was sad. She laughs. I try my very good fake cry to elicit some freaking empathy from this miniature monster and she pauses, thinks about feeling bad for me, then continues laughing before hoisting the bathroom door open (which opens up INTO the tiny bathroom within which four people are gathered) and narrowly missing Hayes’s head due to mama bear’s quick reflexes. So far the best news of the night is that I’ve single-handedly avoided the ER… I’m still waiting on my Key To The City for my heroic action.
I half-ass mop up the pee with the kids’ adorable personalized Pottery Barn towels that are now covered in urine and dog prints. And I even used the correct towel for the correct kid – that’s like homemade chocolate chip cookie status in Mom of 3 or More Land.
I get them all off to bed and think about how cute and perfect and joyous they are now that they are asleep.
As I hand wash the bottles, toys, high chairs, and whatever else they’ve managed to snot and drool on during dinner time, Girly Girl makes her way out the front door. (Back story: the front yard is off-limits to her right now because we have a bunny nest – one that she found in the first place. Since the front yard/invisible fence yard is off limits she isn’t wearing her shock collar.) Once I realize this I make a beeline for the yard to scoop up my very naughty animal but she’s escaped. I see her playing with what looks like a dead rodent in the driveway. “My perfect baby Girly Girl is a bunny murderer!” I think as I run to get her in my urine socks (yep still haven’t changed) with my sleeves still rolled up from doing the dishes.
But to my elation I am wrong: Girly Girly is simply playing with the completely unharmed baby bunny that she must’ve taken out of its little hole 50 feet away to the driveway. As I pick up the bunny I wonder if it will bite me or give me rabies but as a first responder I must put these thoughts out of my head and focus on the health and safety of my patient. And just as gingerly as Clifford rescues cats from tall trees, I put the baby bunny back in its house with its siblings, and then I grounded Girly Girl.
All of you moms and dads out there are shaking your heads in solidarity with me right now… because this story is an old tale. And what better way to end and old tale than with a cotton-tail. The End.
PS I didn’t get rabies.