Making a Mess

Since we are moving next week, we have eaten out much more than normal that last week or so. That seems to happen every time we move. I pack up a few dishes that I think I don't need, I do a final shopping of only necessities, then I feel like I have nothing to cook and no dishes to cook in anyway. So, we go out to eat.

Last week we had one (or more) such days.

I had had a very long day. We had been trying to find renters to finish out the lease on our rental home, and I had shown the house multiple times that day. The kids have been on edge all week. I'm sure they can sense my stress. I had been cleaning and packing and hadn't even thought about dinner.

Michael came home and suggested that we go to the Chinese buffet in town. It is cheap. My kids can get what they want. And my kids actually eat their food since they picked it. It is a great compromise for all.

We load up and go!

At one point during the meal, I went back to get a bowl of soup and to help S get something. After helping S, I send her back to the table, fill a soup cup, and set it on my plate.

I look up and see a little blond boy running with his dirty plate and cottage cheese fingers right at me.

"I want another sugar roll!"

Okay.

I got Z a roll, and immediately he starts whipping his slimy plate around. I can just see the roll sliding right off his plate.

Pause a moment.

Rewind.

When I filled Z's first plate, I told him multiple times to hold it with two hands and be careful. Of course he is 4 years old and not very patient while I help get food for 4 children, so his plate of food ended up on the floor.

Fast forward.

I can see that he is about to lose his roll. This time I don't have 2 other kids in tow, so lunging to stop him from dropping it seems like a good option.

Wrong. It was just a roll. I should have let it go.

Unfortunately for me, my plate was placed more precariously on the counter than I thought. I save Z's plate, but I lose my own.

My cup of steaming hot soup spills all down the front of me and burns my hand.

Great!

"What happened?" comes an innocent chirp.

"I made a mess! Go sit down by Dad."

Z runs back to the table while yelling, "Mom made a mess!"

I go in to the bathroom where there are, of course, no paper towels. I use the 1-ply toilet paper as best I can to clean off my clothes. But at this point I may look like I peed my pants.

Oh, the joys of children.

I go back out, inform someone they need to mop up some soup, get a new bowl, and sit with my family.

Michael doesn't quite know what to say.

I'm fuming.

Z is cheerfully eating his "sugar roll."

After a little while I cool off.

We finish dinner and head to the car.

Once in the car, Michael finishes the story he was afraid to tell me while I was mad.

Z came running over to the table yelling, "Mom made a mess. But I didn't. I beed careful."

Orange Nail Polish

A couple of weeks ago, I was going through boxes of stuff, purging for our upcoming yard sale. I was "in the zone" you might say. I wasn't paying much attention to my boys while Baby B slept and S was at school. They are pretty good at entertaining themselves, plus they had control of the remote. Good parenting. Right?!?

While I was working, I got a whiff of nail polish. I had just taken a few bottles out of one of the boxes and put it aside to pack with bathroom stuff. I didn't think a thing of it.

A few minutes later I got another whiff and suddenly realized, if you can smell the nail polish, it is probably open.

Brilliant deduction. I know.

I turn around.

A foot away from me is W, painting one of his legs a vibrant shade of orange.

All I had to do was say his name, and he burst into tears.

I figured I'd clean it off him later when I had time to search for nail polish remover. It was going to be a chore, but he didn't get it on the carpet and we got some of it wiped up for now. The rest was dry.

Here's a picture of my cute little guy with his leg covered in orange nail polish.

Yes, I posted the right picture.

Yes, I said orange nail polish.

And yes, I did say one leg was covered.

You just can't see the orange nail polish because he decided to cover it up with a bottle of green paint.

Let's continue this story....

A few hours after the nail polish incident, I was in another room working on something else. I suddenly realize that W is nowhere to be found.  I wander into the room of boxes, and there on the far side is a cute, little, green monster.

Of course I was completely calm (if you believe that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you).

Again, I say his name, and he bursts into tears.

He starts to walk towards me, which I realize immediately is a horrible idea unless I want green paint all over the house. I pick him up and carry him upstairs to the bathroom.

As soon as I set him down, I realize I saved the house but a ruined one of my favorite pairs of jeans! Of course they are the pair that make me feel skinny. Now they make me feel green.

I am ragging  mad, but before I put him in the shower (a bath would do no good with this much paint, much to his dismay) I think, "You may be angry now, but you will want to blog about this later."

Oh how right I was.

After a good scrubbing, I got the green monster mostly back to his normal color. Though one leg was still a bit orange.