These are days of the week in which your kids get into exponentially more trouble and instigate a plethora more shenanigans than on a normal day.
As if I needed more proof that any woman with half a brain and a heart can do as well as I do in parenting, Mother's Day provided me with a few extra examples of my life gone way out of control.
It started off fine...Brad was getting ready to leave when Brody came in for some snuggles. Oddly (ah-hem), Oaklee was already in bed beside me. It's not that she sleeps there ALL night, just a lot of it. Brad wished me a happy Mother's Day and Brody did the same, then he wished Oaklee a happy mother's day, and Brad a happy mother's day, and when Clementine came in, he wished her one, too.
Happy Mother's Day to all, people!
Brad left for church and I was up and at 'em making some pancakes until I remembered we were out of syrup. I looked outside to see that the neighbor's dog had partied with our compost pile again, dragging the container across the back deck to make sure all of the food scraps were on top of each board. I saw an empty shoebox, reminding me that I didn't ask Brody what he did with his "pet" turtle the day before.
"Brody, did you set your turtle free last night?"
"No, I threw him away."
"What do you mean you threw him away?"
"I put him in the trash can."
"You what? Why did you put him in the trash can?"
"I was done with him?"
I went on to explain to Brody that just because he was done with the turtle didn't mean the turtle should not go on to have a happy life of solitude. I then took a load of trash to the garbage can and saw the turtle there, halfway down without a route of escape.
So there I was on Sunday morning--Mother's Day, to be exact--lifting Brody up and over the stinking empty garbage can so he could get the turtle out and set it free.
I left him out there with his little friend, saying goodbyes I assumed, and after about 10 minutes I looked out the window to check on them. THEY were jumping on the trampoline. Yes, Brody and the turtle. I just let it happen because whatever.
Meanwhile, inside my house, I was back to square one for breakfast. I decided on cheesy eggs with ham because that's EASY and doesn't require much cleanup. Brecken, upon waking up, did not like that plan at all. Cried about no pancakes. I can't really blame him. I love me some pancakes, too. Clementine wasn't thrilled about it either, mostly because Brecken wasn't thrilled and she is a follower.
After some coercing, the kids ate what they were served. Did they have a choice? Not really, if they wanted to eat.
Then came a shining moment in the otherwise bleak and scary scenes from Mother's Day morning: The johnny jump-up family jumping video:
Much later that morning, at about 7:30 (insert eyeroll because 7:30 used to be early), the kids were playing in their room while I dried my hair. It had been a few minutes, so I stopped to check on Oaklee...Legos are not supposed to be on the floor around here, but turtles aren't supposed to be in trash cans, either.
I didn't see Oaklee in their room, so I assumed I'd find her in the living room standing by the ottoman, one of her favorite stand-up spots. I heard her crawling around (she's a busybody), so I assumed she was okay, even though I didn't see her. I walked back through the hall and heard the small splash of water. Looking in the bathroom, I found Oaklee sitting near the base of the toilet with something in her mouth. Her shirt was wet, and she was chowing down on toilet paper. Since the seat of the toilet was wet, I have to believe that it was wet toilet paper from the toilet bowl. At this point, I began trying to remember the last time the toilet had been cleaned (four days ago, by the way, which is pretty good around here).
I was totally disgusted but decided that getting her stomach pumped or trying to make her vomit on my own was a bit drastic. Instead, I washed her up as well as possible and took her shirt off to rinse it and let it dry on the back deck. I did some googling and found that urine is mostly sanitary, but we would have had a slight problem if she had eaten poo. And she might have, because unfortunately flushing is a major nuisance around here.
I came back in to finish getting ready. I remembered I left makeup in the car, so I headed out to the garage to get it. I opened the door to the garage and looked down to place my bare foot on the concrete. There, sitting on the rug at the bottom of the stairs, was a decapitated mouse with its innards sitting next to its body.
A Mother's Day gift from the indoor-turned-outdoor-turned-fend-for-yourself cat. How delightful. (Another delightful cat story here.)
A special day, indeed.