This morning was unproductive... at least physically. I got up at 6:20 with my youngest two. They always begin their day early and are soon whining for food. I usually try to hold breakfast off until the girls wake. I made a batch of French toast for breakfast this morning when they did.
As I made a steady stream of pieces, two at a time, the children bickered and whined about how the next one should be for them as I poured syrup and cut bite sized pieces for the littlest between flips. Eventually their hunger was assuaged and after wiping off sticky faces and fingers, they trotted off to get ready for the day and to play until things were cleaned up.
Finally the dishes were cleared, the syrup was wiped up, etc. But just as I turned the corner to walk out of the kitchen, my oldest walked in. Lately I feed my husband after the kids and then my oldest either joins in at the end of his father's breakfast or he eats breakfast leftovers whenever he wakes up while I am busy schooling the other children.
This is a new development, as he was always in the kitchen for breakfast by 8:30 sharp in the past. But seeing as I only have a handful of months left with him before he leaves for college, he's been traveling a great deal, working hard to maintain his grades this last semester, up late with activities many nights, and devoting countless hours to his robotics team, I've felt indulgent and let him sleep. After all, nobody skates through when earning an engineering degree, and he IS currently pursuing admission to the Webb institute where in 4 years you earn a double major in marine engineering and naval architecture, as well as graduate with 8 months of on-the-job work experience after 4 internships. He'd better get all the sleep he can get now.
Anyway, as I fired up the skillet and whipped up a new batch of French toast, my youngest daughter called down that she was going to get my youngest child dressed for me if that was okay. I called back my thanks and proceeded to feed my young giant. When breakfast was cleared up for the second time, I stopped by the laundry room on the way upstairs. I had a load of laundry to switch before getting the rest of the day rolling.
To my surprise, I nearly wiped out. My foot shot out from under me and I found myself hydroplaning on about 2 inches of laundry detergent. Here's what happened. My thoughtful daughter was trying to help out, so she stripped my youngest of his PJs, took off his wet pull-up, and proceeded to get him dressed. (Side note: I am currently failing at potty training my fifth kid.) Then, considerate child that she is, she trotted the wet diaper down to the laundry room where I put soiled diapers in a special can.
Unfortunately, I had set a new container of laundry detergent on the trash can lid the night before after using up the previous jug. (The can is next to the washer.) My daughter lifted it off and put it on top of the running washing machine to put the pull-up in the can. She left the laundry soap on the washer. When the machine hit the spin cycle, it shook the container (a large one for a family of 7) off. It fell to the floor and exploded. The lid and the spout popped off, splattering detergent all up the wall, on unpacked boxes of filing that were waiting in an out-of-the-way place, and onto a box of tools that I keep handy for small household jobs. Then the detergent glugged out- all of it!
So I spent the rest of the morning cleaning it up. I started by scooping up big dustpans-full, as if the dustpan was a shovel, and dumping them into my mopping bucket. This took a lot of "doing." And rinsing it out of the bucket and off of the dustpan was no small task either. It was concentrated detergent for our HE machine.
After that joy, I began wiping up what I could with paper towels, as it would take too long to rinse and wring out cloths, and it was too much to just throw into the washer, which had warnings about not using too much detergent. Luckily I had just purchased a huge pack of paper towel! Soap had seeped under the washer and dryer, under the trash can, under the cardboard file boxes. It had splashed onto a drill battery and charger, onto tools, on the baseboard, wall, and appliance fronts. I used every roll but one.
After that I had to rinse everything and wipe it down, repeatedly, until the lathering stopped. In some places the remaining detergent had begun to dry in thick, clotted streaks. So I spent hours either on my knees, or trotting to the wash tub in the basement to rinse.
Eventually, I had remediated the disaster as best as I could. It was nearly noon. I headed upstairs to smell that my youngest had pooped in his new pull-up already. He had proceeded to sit in his own filth playing. He was alone in his room happily modifying a lovely Duplo house with multiple stories. I assumed that since I was hearing all of the kids' voices and that they had asked for crayons, that they were coloring together. Plus, they knew what I was doing and were old enough to entertain a 4 year old.
"Didn't you notice that he had pooped?" I asked.
"Yes," replied my oldest daughter disgustedly, "Why do you think we're all out here?!"
-And yet she did not think to tell me. This statement pretty much sums up her usual attitude, which is why I let my younger daughter, who is thoughtful, although inept, try her hand at helping me.
When changing my littlest's diaper, I found that my silly girl had put the pull-up on crooked, so all of the feces had been forced out of a leg hole and had become embedded in his pants leg, etc. It was another disaster that put cleaning up a detergent spill into context, and made it seem much more pleasant in retrospect.
When the poo-splosion was all cleaned up and the room aired out, it was time to start cooking lunch. This, folks, is why I get so little help at home. It usually turns out badly. Hopefully you have enjoyed the humorous word-pictures that I have painted for you. I, on the other hand, although I DO see the humor, am enjoying the lovely citrus scent of detergent that is still lingering in my home and the very, very clean laundry room floor. (My little son's bum is no longer clean, however. I am not enjoying that.) :)
As I made a steady stream of pieces, two at a time, the children bickered and whined about how the next one should be for them as I poured syrup and cut bite sized pieces for the littlest between flips. Eventually their hunger was assuaged and after wiping off sticky faces and fingers, they trotted off to get ready for the day and to play until things were cleaned up.
Finally the dishes were cleared, the syrup was wiped up, etc. But just as I turned the corner to walk out of the kitchen, my oldest walked in. Lately I feed my husband after the kids and then my oldest either joins in at the end of his father's breakfast or he eats breakfast leftovers whenever he wakes up while I am busy schooling the other children.
This is a new development, as he was always in the kitchen for breakfast by 8:30 sharp in the past. But seeing as I only have a handful of months left with him before he leaves for college, he's been traveling a great deal, working hard to maintain his grades this last semester, up late with activities many nights, and devoting countless hours to his robotics team, I've felt indulgent and let him sleep. After all, nobody skates through when earning an engineering degree, and he IS currently pursuing admission to the Webb institute where in 4 years you earn a double major in marine engineering and naval architecture, as well as graduate with 8 months of on-the-job work experience after 4 internships. He'd better get all the sleep he can get now.
Anyway, as I fired up the skillet and whipped up a new batch of French toast, my youngest daughter called down that she was going to get my youngest child dressed for me if that was okay. I called back my thanks and proceeded to feed my young giant. When breakfast was cleared up for the second time, I stopped by the laundry room on the way upstairs. I had a load of laundry to switch before getting the rest of the day rolling.
To my surprise, I nearly wiped out. My foot shot out from under me and I found myself hydroplaning on about 2 inches of laundry detergent. Here's what happened. My thoughtful daughter was trying to help out, so she stripped my youngest of his PJs, took off his wet pull-up, and proceeded to get him dressed. (Side note: I am currently failing at potty training my fifth kid.) Then, considerate child that she is, she trotted the wet diaper down to the laundry room where I put soiled diapers in a special can.
Unfortunately, I had set a new container of laundry detergent on the trash can lid the night before after using up the previous jug. (The can is next to the washer.) My daughter lifted it off and put it on top of the running washing machine to put the pull-up in the can. She left the laundry soap on the washer. When the machine hit the spin cycle, it shook the container (a large one for a family of 7) off. It fell to the floor and exploded. The lid and the spout popped off, splattering detergent all up the wall, on unpacked boxes of filing that were waiting in an out-of-the-way place, and onto a box of tools that I keep handy for small household jobs. Then the detergent glugged out- all of it!
So I spent the rest of the morning cleaning it up. I started by scooping up big dustpans-full, as if the dustpan was a shovel, and dumping them into my mopping bucket. This took a lot of "doing." And rinsing it out of the bucket and off of the dustpan was no small task either. It was concentrated detergent for our HE machine.
After that joy, I began wiping up what I could with paper towels, as it would take too long to rinse and wring out cloths, and it was too much to just throw into the washer, which had warnings about not using too much detergent. Luckily I had just purchased a huge pack of paper towel! Soap had seeped under the washer and dryer, under the trash can, under the cardboard file boxes. It had splashed onto a drill battery and charger, onto tools, on the baseboard, wall, and appliance fronts. I used every roll but one.
After that I had to rinse everything and wipe it down, repeatedly, until the lathering stopped. In some places the remaining detergent had begun to dry in thick, clotted streaks. So I spent hours either on my knees, or trotting to the wash tub in the basement to rinse.
Eventually, I had remediated the disaster as best as I could. It was nearly noon. I headed upstairs to smell that my youngest had pooped in his new pull-up already. He had proceeded to sit in his own filth playing. He was alone in his room happily modifying a lovely Duplo house with multiple stories. I assumed that since I was hearing all of the kids' voices and that they had asked for crayons, that they were coloring together. Plus, they knew what I was doing and were old enough to entertain a 4 year old.
"Didn't you notice that he had pooped?" I asked.
"Yes," replied my oldest daughter disgustedly, "Why do you think we're all out here?!"
-And yet she did not think to tell me. This statement pretty much sums up her usual attitude, which is why I let my younger daughter, who is thoughtful, although inept, try her hand at helping me.
When changing my littlest's diaper, I found that my silly girl had put the pull-up on crooked, so all of the feces had been forced out of a leg hole and had become embedded in his pants leg, etc. It was another disaster that put cleaning up a detergent spill into context, and made it seem much more pleasant in retrospect.
When the poo-splosion was all cleaned up and the room aired out, it was time to start cooking lunch. This, folks, is why I get so little help at home. It usually turns out badly. Hopefully you have enjoyed the humorous word-pictures that I have painted for you. I, on the other hand, although I DO see the humor, am enjoying the lovely citrus scent of detergent that is still lingering in my home and the very, very clean laundry room floor. (My little son's bum is no longer clean, however. I am not enjoying that.) :)
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