Survivor

Recently (i.e., today) I've begun to think I need to find some other means of employment. I can handle a one-month-old, no problem. But this 2 1/2 year old thing? That's a whole other story. Yesterday began like any other day. Logan watched some cartoons, we went outside to play, lunch time arrived, and Logan asked to go to bed. I know, I was a shocked as you are: He asked to go to bed. I should have known then that something sinister was developing. Auden was wide awake, and, despite my best efforts, I couldn't tempt him to fall asleep so all of us could nap for a while; thus, I went around the house with baby in arms getting some chores done. I noticed some noises issuing from Logan's room, but I thought to myself, "Maybe he's just playing quietly in there with his new castle toy, or maybe he's getting a book to take to bed with him. If he's quiet, I'm not going to upset the apple cart." So on I went with the chores. Not much later, I heard more rustling in there, and just as I was about to ask Logan what he was up to, I heard his little voice say, "Mommy, I need some paper!" "What do you need paper for?" I asked, a little afraid to hear his response. "I painting!" He shouted back proudly, and he opened his door. Lo and behold, he had spread out three paper plates and nicely put big blobs of tempra paints on them. With paintbrush in hand, he showed me his latest masterpiece: his bedroom floor (carpeted) was littered with lovely red, purple, green, and blue slashes of paint, as were his bed sheets and the his bean bag chair, and the pages of his Dr. Seuss alphabet book were stuck together with paint. Ok, the drawer I thought he couldn't get in to, the one where I had been stashing all of his art supplies? He can get into that after all. I was really mad...but somehow I couldn't be mad at him, just mad at myself for (once again) underestimating his craftiness. It was all kind of funny, really.


And then today, I was talking to a friend and sweeping the floor while Logan was playing and eating some goldfish crackers in the living room. As I was dumping the contents of the dustpan into the trash, I heard shattering glass and Logan's crying. My heart pounding, I ran into the living room to find Logan still holding my glass of water (well, the bottom of it, at least), and a huge puddle of water and pieces of glass all around him. I picked him up and asked him where he was hurt. No response, but I didn't see any blood. I asked him if he was hurt: "No!" "Then why are you crying?!" "I spilled mommy's water! I broke mommy's glass! I want some water!" Big sigh of relief. Another big cleanup after getting him some water and sitting him on the couch while I cleared away the glass.

So two major disasters in two days. Ok, they're certainly not BP-level disasters--Eric says I need a reality check--but they feel like a big deal, and I feel like a big moron. Hopefully I can keep my boys alive and well this year. How's that for goal setting?