Crybaby

The majority of my days as a SAHM are spent cleaning up, picking up, moving things around, and cleaning up some more. Luckily my son has learned how to clean up his own spills and runs for a towel before Stella can climb into the liquidy mess. Unfortunately, he has this game where he hides with his cup or Stella's bottle and pours it out. Usually all over my nice rug.

We've had baby powder explosions, crayon on the doors, marker on the floors, paint on the kitchen chairs. All of which I handle quite in stride, I might add, because I AM, after all, the mother of a 1 and 3 year old. Magic Erasers are a gift to moms everywhere and the Dustbuster is one interesting gadget to a 3-year-old, often enticing enough to make him clean up his own messes.

This morning, however, we decided to play upstairs, where all the bedrooms are. While I was hanging laundry in my bedroom, across the upstairs I could hear the kids playing in Cole's room and then go to Stella's room, which came across my bedroom monitor. When Cole giggled and ran to the bathroom, it was obvious something was up. He had taken Stella's Advil down from her dresser, poured it all over her floor, blanket, bed, and my antique couch, a gift from my late Aunt Diane. I had to send him out of the room so I could cry.

Some days I'm a real crybaby.