No, that's not an orange grove you smell in my house, it's frickin' Orange Glo. On EVERYTHING. I was at the office and call home to ask hubby a question and he sounds a little, well...mad. I asked if everything was okay and he proceeds to tell me that he went out to the barn to check on the milk tank and when he came back to the house, which is a baseball-throw's distance from the house, our almost-3 year old had sprayed Orange Glo on EVERYTHING on the first floor. I said "well how long were you out there," and he answers, "15-20 minutes, but he was sleeping." My trademark sarcasm responded, "obviously, he wasn't," which abruptly ended our conversation. You just have to know our little Garrett. The kids could raize this house if given a full half-hour. So, for the last two days, everything I pick up slides right out of my hands when picked up. Smells good, though. Garrett has a few little quirks worth mentioning. Today, I go to lay him down for his nap. He has always been a very good sleeper. (you can see where this is heading) He has a cute little car bed he loves. I go to put him in it and the pillow is at the right end of the bed and it has always been on the left end of the bed. He FREAKS OUT! Starts yelling about the pillow and pointing to where it used to be. Being the good mom, I move the pillow to the other end. Now he cries and points to the end of the bed I just moved it from. I give up and close the door, to which he lets me know there is no way he is even considering a nap today since I messed up the Feng Shui of the nursery. Give me a break.
There is something about a toddler skipping a nap that just ruins my day. And laying him down to no avail is sort of akin to handing me an ice cream cone and then ripping it from my hands right before I take a bite. Just cruel. I couldn't love him any more than I already do, but I plan my day around his nap to some extent. Ok, enough whining.
It was the kind of Mommy Moment that make me appreciate the relaxation of going into my office and dealing with the comparatively simple things, like federal court briefs and commercial leases. Really...at the office, I'm the boss. Here, I am merely a pawn in the hands of my 2, 4, 6, 8, and 10-year old kids.
This evening, I had a landscaping guy come to give me an estimate on some work I want done in the yard. We are standing in the yard talking, when suddenly Garrett comes shooting out of the house at Mach 200 and goes flying past us. Being the good mother, I take off after him in a very flattering half-crouched-over-I'll-catch-up-with-him-any-second position, with him gaining ground. I hear the landscaper snickering behind me. Jerk. So, I hear Garrett saying, "Fwim! Fwim!" and know now that our cat-and-mouse game is apparently headed around the house and for the pool. He heads straight up the steps to the deck and is going full speed toward the water when I literally grab him in mid-plunge, with him yelling "FWIM!" the damn landscaper laughing hysterically and my sweatpants falling off my slow, sorry butt. He mumbled something about, "you have your hands full with him," as I held Garrett, resisting the urge to squeeze the bujeebee's out of him. How can a 2-year old be so darn hard to catch? The most insulting part of it is when he is trying to outrun me, he is constantly turning back, looking at me with a big smile on his face. This whole scenario was very reminiscent of a few weeks ago at our new church when Garrett discovered the baptismal tub (font? not sure what they call it) at the front of the church that I didn't know was there until I see him running to the front of the church after the service, he yells, "water!" and someone says, "Get that kid!!!" Me, again, crouched over, in high heels, trying to catch him while he is up the steps and literally inches from "fwimmin'" in the holy water.
Well, I need to get some sleep. My little beast(s) will be awake in about 7 hours.
