Momma, have you ever traveled alone???

Listen, I know the appropriate answer in ALL of our mommy lives is THAT OUR CHILDREN ARE OUR GREATEST BLESSINGS!

Therefore, Pinterest and Facebook and Instagram and LIFE itself was created (of course, exaggerating on ALL of the above) for T.H.E.M.

But when you are a mommy—you FEEL as if you MUST only be mommy.

100%.

All the time.

Because, by golly, you created THAT life—you can just as easily TAKE IT AWAY (oops—wrong tangent).

No, really…You feel this gut need to be there 24/7 plus all of those hours in between that in mommy hood REALLY DO EXIST!

I know.  Because I have been a mommy for 10 and a half years.  And in the years that I have been a mommy, I have had, literally just today, A TOTAL OF 2 weeks WHERE I HAVEN’T HAD A CHILD IN MY PRESENCE since my firstborn was, well, BORN.  (And those words do deserve ALL CAPS)

That’s 365 x 10 plus 6 months which equals approximately 3,830 days where life has NEVER EVER EVER EVER been about a single moment of me since.  Now, take away the 14 days where I have been a mommy BUT not in the presence of a single child that was mine equals 3,816 days.  Forget the fact that I am Facetiming them about 2 times a day—they are not hanging on to my shirttails, so it is still deemed “free”.

Ladies—There is something utterly overwhelming about that number.   And, if you’re sanctimonious, spare me the comments, because that’s a crap load of LOTS of time dedicated to little people.  Enough of a load to make you go just a WEE BIT insane.

And, even though, I am suppose to be in ARIZONA with 1/3 of my little people right now, I wound up here (due to an expired passport) ALL ALONE.

At first I was like, what do I do???

At first it was like—lie in bed.  Don’t feed anyone.  Take a long shower.  Get coffee.  Sleep.

A little boring—because, after all, children do make our lives FUN!

But the more days I have been relaxing here, the more I have realized that I have needed this.

This moment.

To NOT be constantly thinking about scissors and rocks and crying babies and wiping my son’s bottom to save my laundry load from streaks later…

This moment.

To not be picking stuck boogers out of the littlest nostrils and convincing the oldest that it is her SWORN duty to play with the littles for ONE HOUR of the 24 WAKING HOURS she has in her day so that I can sit and stare mindlessly into a dirty house.

This moment.

To not be cutting crust off of bread—whichever parent invented that method of sandwich preparation—remind me to KILL YOU LATER, because, for some reason, my children KNOW it and CAN’T eat sandwiches with crust.

This moment.

To realize that my house is probably the aftermath of the storm—but I am ALONE in my bed without physically seeing the dirt and grime and toys and laundry—so I am SAFE FROM THE STORM!

And the longer I am apart from my Tasmanian devils, the more I appreciate being their mommy.  It’s like that Christmas chocolate you get that you put up high to only have a piece every once in a while because you want to make it last…NOT SAYING THAT I’LL STUFF MY KIDS UP HIGH SOMEWHERE SO THEY’LL LIVE (or am I????).

Simply saying—this moment of being without kids is allowing my haggard body, soul, and mind to reboot.

So I can go back and live 24/7 for another 3,816 days—upon which they will all be out of the home and I will be SOBBING for the days of insanity.

#truth

#nuttynuttytruth

To end…my advice for you, mommies, out there.  Maybe take a break from day 3,173 and go somewhere without kids and just lie in bed, be bored, drink coffee, shower, and reboot.

It’s totally worth it.

And, don’t worry, the house will be a disaster upon your return—as if you NEVER really left in the first place.  BUT OH YOUR SOUL WILL KNOW THE TRUTH!

And that truth will let you live on!

Power on, Mommy—and travel alone!!!!

 

 

 

When sanity restoration begins and you already start crying…

I have been LONGING…literally LONGING for sanity for the last several years while my head has been spinning wildly in all directions except on.

And then it happened two days ago.  I took a shower—door unlocked, of course and open, while the two littles were awake and propped in front of the TV.

The thing is…I didn’t rush.  I washed my hair.  Shaved my legs…both don’t normally happen in the midst of my “ARE THE KIDS TURNING ON THE OVEN AND BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE AND RUNNING WITH SCISSORS” showers that normally take place.  One definitely has to go.  Mostly the shaving legs.  Good thing I live in Europe 😉

It was amazing.  And I didn’t feel stressed.  I occasionally would shout out, “ARE YOU OKAY????”  To which they would respond, “We’re OKAY!” And then I would enjoy the next moment of sanity…

And just as I was beginning to get nostalgic for the moments when I had to worry and live in paranoia with the “I CANT LIVE WITHOUT MOMMY” seconds that occupy my every waking moment, two littles come running in shouting, “I WANNA SHOWER WITH MOMMY!!!!!”

Clothes are stripped.  Diapers are stripped.  And I finish rinsing my hair just in time to hop out and throw two naked bottoms in—albeit crying naked bottoms—saying stuff like, “BUT I WANNA SHOWER WITH YOU, MOMMA!”

And as much as I enjoyed my freedom and sanity for those 5 minutes in the shower—I enjoyed hearing those words even more.  Because those were the longest 5 minutes of my life—knowing that my sanity was on its way to being restored—and freedom would soon again be mine.

The freedom I have been screaming for the last many years—is on the horizon—and now I’m so sad about it.

MOMMYHOOD.

Man it’s a crazy conundrum of nonsensical emotions that keeps me screaming, crying, laughing, hugging, or spinning.

AND I WANT THEM ALL TO STAY THE SAME…

Yet I want to shower in peace, too.

Sometimes there is clearly no winner in the mom game 😉

The Original Michelangelo David Versus MY DAVID!

Look, I completely recommend seeing the original David.  There is absolutely nothing like it in the world.

Here is what you need to know:

It is located at the university—who knows where?  On some side street with no line, whatsoever, to get in.  And you will get very lost trying to walk to it.  But you can make it (we did!).  And it was worth every wrong turn.

And, as utterly amazing the sculpture is, I am not quite sure that it is as well mastered or divine as my very own David—my David that appeared out of nowhere to me yesterday while I was taking one of only TWO potty breaks that I actually had from the entire day.  Seriously, folks…one of two!

And here my David comes sauntering in (because of course I MUST take my potty breaks with the door open since I have two toddlers at home), completely naked.  (He can go from dressed to naked in about 3 seconds flat) And full of becoming his very own masterpiece.  Because, of course, as ALL LIFE WITH TODDLERS HAS IT, he was coloring with markers (washable, don’t worry), while I was finally sitting on the porcelain throne for ONLY the second time for the entire day.

My DAVID!  My Masterpiece!

And, I must admit, as divine as I believe the original Michelangelo to be, I think my David may be just as super awesome!

So, of course, after I got off the potty—you know—time’s up for dear ol’ mom, I decided to do my own photoshoot taking similar pictures like I took of the original David in Florence.

Except this David is a Brooke and Richard Masterpiece of God, who battled his own Giant (not Goliath but yet his Goliath of impending death), and now resides not at  Galleria dell’Accademia in Italy but in #villagelife Poland.

You scroll through the photos and decide which David is the greater masterpiece (and, if you choose the original, perhaps don’t tell this momma).

Enjoy!

Let’s begin with the right hand of David that is holding the stone that is used to defeat the Giant Goliath:

davidshand

And now the marker that is held in the right hand of my very own David used to defeat the sanity of mom (notice how it is even a homemade Crayola marker):

mydavidsrock

Next up!  The torso of the original David and his glance and piercing eyes, lightly holding the sling that was used to fight Goliath casually slung over his left shoulder:

hiseyes

And now my Masterpiece David, with his young and youthful toddler belly body (full of like 5 bowls of homemade chicken noodle soup) and his left arm up—holding nothing but air (just because I told him to).  Notice my masterpiece is even glancing off to the left:

FullSizeRender-1

Lastly, or at least what I will display on my page, the feet of Michelangelo’s David.  Seriously.  This young sculptor was truly an amazing artist, as the feet were even carved to perfection (out of marble):

hisfeet

But, as perfectly as they are carved out of marble, I still think that I find my Masterpiece to be just as perfectly carved.  Here are his feet:

FullSizeRender

And, of course, while I am sitting at the table type-typing this away, two of my greatest Masterpieces given to me by God, are mere feet away, at the window, creating a cherry-tree robot and a meow-meow (in their vivid imaginations, of course) on what was just moments ago very clean windows.

But, hey!  Who needs windows when I have walking, living, talking, breathing, statue Masterpieces to fill my home?

Not me!

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.  Psalm 139:14

 

How to live with the toddler tornado season of your life.

tornadoes1and2

Yesterday started and ended in a tornado.  If we had a storm cellar, I may have hidden down there.  I don’t have twins, but I have toddler-like twin tornadoes that swirl through my home daily—and I just can’t keep up.

In a few short months, I will be 40.  Did you read that correctly?  FORTY!

That’s like the beginning of Phase 2 of life.  And I feel great and look so forward to it.

But there is this thing.  Having a baby at 30 versus 40 is a new ballgame.  It’s like the NBA Stars in their prime versus the Dancing Grannies that move and kick at all rhythms, even though they are suppose to be kicking together.

I am kicking at my own rhythm and the toddlers are not kicking with the nearly 40-year-old me.

And when I feel worn down, I look the tornadoes in their faces and realize that, although I am in the eye of their storm, too quickly this storm will pass—and I will miss the mess!

I feel as if I failed miserably raising my first daughter who is now 9 (my toddler-like-twin tornadoes are respectively 1 & 1/2 and 3).  I feel like I pushed her too hard, disciplined her too much, and expected her to grow too quickly.

Perhaps I feel as if I had to prove to the world that I was a fantastic 1st time mom?  Perhaps I had to feel as if I had the world’s greatest daughter?  Perhaps I just had too many expectations for myself in my mind—even though everyone around me told me to Stop.  Enjoy.  Love.  Care.  Laugh.  Don’t stress.  And Just be.

But I didn’t heed any of their advice.  Before I knew it, my daughter was no longer the tornado toddler, and I miss every naked moment when she was running around in nothing but pink cowboy boots or singing and skating in flour skating rinks on the kitchen floor.

I miss the days when she invited the dogs to sit at the table to eat with us.

And I miss the days when she told me I was greater than Santa and any present he may bring.

Therefore, although I am nearly 10 years past the birth of my oldest — and far more feeling 40 than 30 — technically “nearly” the middle-aged mom of toddlers — I am TRYING … OH TRYING SO HARD — to get it right this time.

If you feel as if your life is a toddler tornado zone—remember me.  And remember how I already miss the toddler tornado moments because I have already seen one child exit the zone and have come out on the other side.  Oh how I wish that I could relive every moment with her in that tornado again.

I would actually throw open that cellar door and run out into the storm with her and say, “OH!  Look!  It’s snowing inside again, is it?!”  And simply vacuum up the baby powder that dusted her doll house and carpet later.

Because, after all, how much longer will she truly believe that it snows inside?

But my other 2, my toddlers, are still there—living every moment of that beautiful snowball of imagination.  Yesterday reminded me how glorious their brilliant imaginations are—and I intend, in my aging and wiser years, to soak it up this time.

And not rush it out.

I hope you throw open the storm cellar and run into the tornado with your toddlers.  May snow grace their bedrooms and monsters be slayed in the halls.

May little Batman briefs and diapers with tutus grace your living rooms…

And may crumbs tumble onto your floors.

Because the toddler storm will end and your house will seem far too clean and quiet—and you will wonder where time went.

Seize the day, my toddler mom friends.  Which means—you will hardly get to eat, sit, shower, or breathe—but seize the day in toddler imaginations, mess, and a good ol’ squeeze them tight and watch them squeal sort of day.

Enjoy your storms.

I do!

***

Here is my Facebook post from yesterday where I was inspired to enjoy the tornado versus get myself upset over the newfound work before me:

i walk up the stairs during maxwell and josephine’s nap time —this is what i find:

max in the hallway in his batman pajamas, hello kitty pink ballerina shoes, and gold princess gloves—wielding a pop-gun “sword” shouting, “I am fighting the monsters, mom!”

to which i think—is josephine sleeping? 

so i walk into their room — where i find:

josephine trapped in her bed, standing up, , wearing a ballerina skirt and superman baseball hat shouting “UP! UP!”

i don’t stop there—i look around the room === this is what i see:

fish and turtle food everywhere.

every clean sheet that was once (only a mere hour earlier) tucked away waiting for the future use—strewn about the floor covered in fish food and turtle food.

but at least max is keeping our house free of monsters, right?  wink emoticon

hope your day is made up of the most beautiful of memories. i know mine is! 

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED:

and the night ended with baby powder all over the floor—because, you know, it snowed 😉 haha!  #whenthemessendsiwillmissit

My Sweet Littles Saying Their Prayers and Dancing on Couches!

You must think that I only have two children with the fact that only Josephine and Maxwell appear to be in my videos.  Sometimes I feel as if I only have two children.  But I actually have three:  Sweet Adelyne, as well.  It’s just that, at 9 years of age, Sweet Adelyne has the most social of social calendars of ANYONE I know.  Not just of 9 year olds. Of anyone—9 or 90—that I know.

It’s awesome fabulous—because, you know, we live in this foreign land called Poland.  And it’s awesome fabulous that my daughter is not a foreigner in this foreign land—she is a Pole.  A proud one.  And she lives her life as a full-blown Polish gal.  Romping, playing, going to school, studying, extra curricular activities, and so forth.

She breathes White and Red.  I am so thankful to God for that!

But that also means when I am at home being Mommy 24/7…(last night daddy actually was home and by 6pm, so we had family pizza night.  twas awesome!)…

familypizzanight

Anyhow…As I play this magical and amazing role of Mommy 24/7, I tend to video those subjects most around me:  Which would continue to explain the absence of Adelyne and Richard 🙂  Neither tend to be around me that often…

Hmmm?????  Perhaps it’s me?!  Haha!

Once again, I really hope you enjoy the videos of the Littles that steal my every moment—even my potty breaks.  But they fill my life with such amazing miraculous wonder, I can’t help but love my every minute.

Here continues the sweet adventures of my Littles, Jo and Max!  Enjoy.

GoGo, will you dance with me?  Asks her awesome Big Bro Maxwell!

Trying to get two toddlers that share a room to settle down and pray is oh so stinking sweet!

I walk into the living room and find Max on top of the couch dancing to Christmas music (yes—we’ve been playing it ever since the chill hit the air!).

I wish you all well and lots of warm love, Christmas music, and overall contentment with where God has placed you in life.

xo for now,

b

I am a SAHM.  I should get used to it.

I am a working mom—yet find myself home nearly every day with my kids.  And it’s glorious but not glamorous.

I had a lot of fun one day documenting segments of my day with my kids.

Here is my glorious but definitely not glamorous life.

Get popcorn!

Xob

What you do for your children’s critters!

Is Cami finally happy 😉 ?  Nah.

Two kittens found their way into our basement.  The kids were thrilled!

Seriously—my bald baby has no idea how disgustingly dirty our basement floor actually is.  Gag!

If I wasn’t already the overly tired nearly 40 yr old mother of toddlers—I would have more energy for this 😉

Yes…to reiterate—I am wearing clothes.  Just meant I couldn’t head outside because was too chilly for my basketball shorts, tank top, and flip flops 😉

I actually filmed so many more but they refused to download.  Perhaps it was an electronic rebellion,eh?!

God bless—and kiss those crazy babies.  Glamorous or glorious—all moments are treasures.

Xo b

That famous mantra “Silence is Golden”??? So NOT true when you have toddlers.

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What’s that famous mantra again that we use in our homes or classrooms or out in public “Silence is Golden”???

Yeah.  That is just such a falsehood when it comes to raising mischievous toddlers.

My husband…the dear old man (okay—39 is only old to children)…is off again.

It happens frequently in my life if you have been following this blog from it’s origin.

Anyhow—he is leading a men’s retreat this weekend.  Now, mind you, he barely returned home Monday night.

Therefore, he was technically home for 4 glorious days.

When I say glorious, you should understand that means busy and crazy and two of those nights he was gone as well—but he bathed the kids in between his few hours at home 😉

And I really don’t mind.

But tonight as I am trying to put new sheets on my toddler number 1 bed because he soiled his sheets this morning—I have toddlers 1 and 2 (so they are Josephine age 17 months and Maxwell age just now 3) playing with his electric and awesome train set.  Easy peasy because the trains shall babysit—right????

So I leave the two toddlers and begin to arrange for my 9-year-old to get in bed as well.

Brush teeth?

Check.

PJs?

Check.

All your clips from your dance recital out of your hair?

Check.

Bed made and ready for entrance?  Radio adventure on?  Disco light dancing?

Check; check; check.

That’s when it hit me…

It was TOO electric train silent!

So Adelyne and I run to the toddlers room (shared room) and discover not a single minion in there.

Where to go next?

It’s a small home, so it’s not too hard to follow the noise—but there was no noise.

Turns out the little devils found their way into the bathroom.  Our bathroom is also our laundry room.

And a small (yet large when your husband is out of town and you are so tired because you have already changed soiled bed sheets from toddler oldest and cleaned up puke in the car from toddler youngest today as well as cleaned out a poopy potty training toilet and changed the Mt. Everest of stinkiest diapers in the world today—and that’s coming from a woman who literally lives only 100 meters from an actual pig farm—STINKY)…

Oh, let me get back to the story—

A small but LARGE snowball fight of laundry soap was taking place.

Lots of THROWING high in the air and then a mad dash away with giggles.

The next would run in and overtake the laundry box and grab a handful and throw, dash, and giggle.

Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Why oh ye little monsoons???  WHY?

I run in all mommy-threatening like.

Yet they don’t respond.

How is that possible?

I totally scare myself at times.

My husband cowers.

My eldest runs for cover.

These Littles…Perhaps they realize that I am too old.  They literally have no fear.

So I catch the closest—my son!  I whisk him into his room, finish putting on his pajamas, he’s yelling, “NO!  It’s WAKE TIME!  WAKE TIME!”  as I begin tossing him (literally) in bed, so I can scamper quickly off to catch the other rebel.

She squeals and tries to dart away.

Man!  That girl is getting fast!

I grab the chub and gently (after all, she is my baby ;)), toss her in bed—turn on her light song music thing and her giraffe cuddle thing and give her the one million blankets she sleeps with at night—

I kiss them both in this hurry before they begin to BAWL kiss-y way and pray silently in my head while mad dashing out the door with a BAM (slamming my hand on the light switch) and actual SLAM of the door … drowning out any tears and sobs that might ensue with my super mommy “I Don’t Hear Nothin'” ears on.

Now to the 9-year-old.

You would think she would be easy, right?

So wrong.

“Ow!  I have a bruise.  I need ice on my foot.  I need ice to eat as well.  I can’t hear my radio drama.  Can I read???”

Kiss, kiss, kiss.

So proud of you for your dance recital today.

I will get you ice—NOT for your bruise.  You will survive.

No, you can’t read.

Yes, you can read in the morning IF you get up early.

No, I won’t leave the light on for you.

Yes, you must go to sleep.

Dear Jesus, pray, pray, pray…

DASH down the stairs—get a cup of ice—dash up the stairs…THROW ice cubes at her (just kidding).

Kiss on forehead and RUN out of room before 1 million questions begins again.

SLAM second door of the night.

Start more poopy laundry from daughter’s diaper explosion (second round of poopy laundry for the day—I HAVE mentioned that, right???)…

Run downstairs.  GRAB Coke (not the drug) and chocolate.

Serenity now????

We shall see, my friends.  We shall see.

After all, I still have NO gate and 3 dogs literally tied up to the trees outside—I have yet had the energy for their evening walk and to bring them in.

Perhaps they will stay tied to the tree tonight?

Or will they chew through their leashes and run away?

How much crying can I handle in the morning???

Who knows, but as I type this there are 3 sleeping kids and I must say that mantra is kind-of true, “Silence is Golden” (as long as kids are sleeping).

Keeping up with the Littles

keeping up with littles_2

Sometimes exhaustion takes over and all you want to do is leave them in their beds.  Trapped.

And you would be resting.

Happily.

But then you begin to think.

Oh no!  What if they are stripping down to their diapers?

What if they are taking their diapers off?

What if they have poopy diapers?

What if they are smearing it all over the walls???

Because you know EVERYTHING like that has already happened.

I remember the first time my son stripped his diaper, I walked into the room and caught him ever so happily standing and peeing all over his crib. He was smiling so brightly!

Later, after we moved back to Poland, my son refused to move into a “big boy bed”.  At first, I really tried to convince him he was a big boy and to sleep in a bed, but sense took over and I thought—holy cow!  Why take him out of his trapped environment?

And he loves his crib.

But I am also a big believer that sometimes we ask kids to grow too quickly.  Therefore, I am VERY content my son loves his crib.

Although he loves his crib, and he remains trapped, doesn’t mean that I have freedom.

The other day I walked in and he had fresh rice milk handprints all over his wall.  He found a way to smear his rice milk all over the wall—but there is literally about 50 handprints that can be seen on his brown wall.  And they are so cute.  And I am not sure I want to cover them up.

And, believe me, I have already had enough poopy episodes to last me a lifetime.

Keeping up with my littles is hard work.  And tiring work.  And sometimes I feel so unfit to be their mommy work.

But then my little man comes and throws himself in my lap and tells me he loves me.

It’s a brief moment because he is not the most cuddly child…but it’s a moment.

And I take it.  And sometimes I get to extend him my hand.  And he gives me a finger.  And I take it.

And my littlest trails after me pulling my sweatpants off all of the time with her constant tugging at my leg.  And I pull them back up over and over again, picking her up at the same time.  And she cries, “Momma!”

And I love it.

I have gotten to stay home with my babies the last 3 weeks—and as utterly exhausted as I have been stoking coal, lighting wood fires, cleaning baby puke and poop…

I have loved every moment.

My son today, after I put my daughter down for a nap, said to me, “Sit down and play with Maxwell, Momma!”

And I sat on the floor and played sensory water marbles spoons-thingy with him.  For about an hour. And we moved marbles back and forth and scooped water.  And did pretty much nothing except sit with spoons, water, marbles, and one another.

And it was blissfully beautiful because it was with my boy.

I have not kept up with my showers or hair combing.  I haven’t kept up with wardrobe changes or even really eating much except soggy cereal leftovers from their remaining breakfasts, but I have loved them much these last 3 weeks that I have gotten to stay at home and be mommy.

I don’t do the best job at keeping up with my littles—but I do the best job I can at loving them way more than a little.  I love them a lot.

And perhaps during all of this crazy diaper pooping puking playing crying trying time in my life, I will actually understand that keeping up with my littles simply calls for loving them enough.

And, if that is the case, hopefully I am doing a swimming job of it all.

   

It takes a village. Now would someone please help me clean up the pee?

I admit it.

I need help.  Lots of it.

It takes a village, and I am living proof of that.

Even today, I, mother of ONLY 3, got breakfast eggs from my sister when she came to pick up my daughter for school.

Have I mentioned that my sister has FOUR children?  So, let’s do the math.  Sister + 4 kids = 1 more than me.

Yet…

She somehow got 4 kids dressed, lunches packed, and out the door…Made eggs and picked up my daughter.

I got one daughter dressed, fed, and ready to be picked up.

ONE.

The other two in my posse of 3…two poopy diapers changed, one baby nursed, and one toddler stuck in a high chair watching Sesame Street.  Oh, glorious Sesame Street—how I love you!

It takes a village, and I am living proof of that.

Last night, at my daughter’s softball game, I had one amazing friend take my infant.  One nephew babysat my toddler, my brother worked with my daughter on her hitting stance, all the while, I sat (or jumped and screamed), keeping score during my daughter’s softball game.  Boy, it was an exciting game for 5-9-year-olds!  Although, I must admit, the other coach took the game a little too seriously.  After all, we cheered at the last double out of the evening—and it was against us.  But it was so exciting!  I think the other uber-competitive coach thought we were all crazy.  Maybe we are.  But at least we had fun!

It takes a village…and I am living proof of that.

Today my mom is going to go shopping with me while I pick up some stuff I want to bring back to Poland with me.  Like a collapsible wagon.  I have birthday money for it.  Glorious birthday money.

Oh, yeah.  I finally turned the big 3-8.  It’s official.  (happened a couple weeks ago, but I’m too tired to keep track)

And then I did it.  I ventured out on my own and did something big.  I’m talking huge!  I bathed two babies after breakfast, simultaneously.  And it was fun.  No village needed, SuperMommy came flying through.

Baby one—out of the bath, while toddler one still got to splash around in the sinking water.

Wee.  All of this is fun.  It must be my sister’s breakfast eggs giving me super strength.

Infant one is finally lotioned, powdered, diapered and dressed.  Toddler is still happily splashing.

I can do it…I can do it…I am doing it!

Toddler out of the bath, towel wrapped around him, it’s actually like a towel dress.  I have grabbed infant and we are now heading in the direction of his (toddler’s) room.  He runs ahead of me.

The entire house is tile.

And when we (me and infant) finally catch him, I see him, squatting on the floor.

Happily splashing.

“Wee, wee, wee!” are literally the words coming out of his mouth followed by, “Splash, splash, splash!”

“MAXWELL!  Did you go pee-pee?”  Why did I bother to ask?  I know the answer.

“Pee-pee!”

Splash, splash, splash!

Yep…It takes a village to raise my family.  I will be the first to admit it.  But I am pretty sure that even in my village, when it comes to toddler’s random pee spot on the floor, it takes the momma to clean the mess.

After all, the village is busy doing everything else.

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Life.  As I know it.