Tom has been gone for a week now.
I’d like to say it’s been an easy week. But then I’d be lying.
The following things have occurred:
A lightbulb burnt out. Okay, that’s not a huge deal. But it is when you’re short. Of course it goes out as soon as Tom leaves. This means I have to lug a chair over, stand on it, pray I don’t topple to my death and hope I can reach in to grasp the bulb. It took a few tries and a couple of swear words but I managed to get it done.
Natalie told me quite seriously that she had poop up her butt right before I took a bite out of my lunch. Want to lose weight? Get a three-year-old.
I found an abandoned (used) diaper on the top of the stairs. Yes, a diaper, because my three-year-old refuses to potty train. Who just leaves a diaper on the top of the stairs? I actually yelled this as I gripped the (thankfully just pee) diaper. “Are we animals?” I continued. “Yes. Meow,” Natalie answered sweetly.
While I was doing dishes Natalie tugged on my pants leg and went, “I cleaned Max’s poop for you.” Max, for those who don’t know, is our cat. And a parent never wants to hear that a kid under five has been cleaning a litter box because it usually means they’ve actually made a mess of it and Lord knows what they’ve touched. I made her wash her hands for five minutes and I cleaned up the cat dropping that Natalie had dumped in front of Max’s food bowl. I imagine Max was thankful that I did that.
Tommy told me he didn’t have to listen to what I had to say because I didn’t know how to swim. Yes, he actually went, “I’m not listening because you can’t swim.” WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING? (And I can swim. I dog paddle quite well, thank you very much.)
When I came down from folding laundry I found this:
What possessed Natalie to throw her snack around my living room floor? What clicked in her brain that said, “Hey. Let’s toss the pretzels and chocolate covered raisins all over? Mommy will LOVE it!” Let me tell you, Mommy did NOT love it. It must be nice to go, “Lalala, I’m going to throw things around and then read a nice book about Diego.”
If that weren’t enough, I was flipping through the base paper and this article caught my eye:
So not only do I have to worry about my kids, I also have to worry about bats. With rabies. We’ve actually had a bat at our house two years ago. I wrote about it here and let me tell you, I was freaked out. What if another bat comes back? Tom got rid of the last one. What will I do this time? Knock on my neighbor’s door and be all, “Um, excuse me, there is a bat near my door, it might have rabies but would you mind disposing of it?”
Man. It’s only been a week since my husband left and I’m debating purchasing a Margarita maker. And I don’t even really like Margaritas!