Grilled Cheese & Nipples

Where in the hell is my phone? ran through my head for the fifteenth time as I looked under the mounds of clean (and no longer clean) laundry and various paraphenilia on the large kitchen island.

I threw a couple of pairs of size 12 month baby pants out of the way just as I caught my call going to voicemail. Sliding by Xander, who patiently played in his high chair, Zoe sprinted through my legs and grabbed her animated-walking puppy that will serve as a catalyst to a broken bone sometime in the near future. Hers? Mine? Not sure - just mark my words.

After a quick "Zo! Please keep that in the play room! If I see it again it becomes mine" to the back of her cute pony-tailed head as she trotted off with puppy in hand, the task I was elbow deep in needed my immediate attention. Someone put the gallon of milk back in the fridge without the lid on and Xander used the milk jug on the bottom shelf to try to pull himself up while I attempted to make breakfast this morning. I had just stripped Xander down to his Pampers and threw my shirt in the wash, but still had quite a few shelves, drawers, and jars to de-milk, so I got back to it.

"Mooooooooooooooooom! Xander is a stinky stinky baby! Yech!" came from the high chair. Zander was fussing, Zoe was playing a game of peek a book with X and the puppy, and our real dog was sniffing Xander's crotch with interest. Yep - diaper change time.

As soon as I laid Xander down I knew it was an exploding diaper situation. A dozen wipes later, X was still trying to slither through, under, and around me as I attempted to keep my ivory carpet ivory and his clothes clean. Zoe was doing her "Dancing dancing booty dance" she likes to do when she is craving attention (in her Dora undies, a two year old version of a booty dance).

As I wrapped up a filthy diaper and an even filthier baby, I started laughing and in the split second Zo had my attention, Xander was crawling away at a hare's pace. Crap! Literally.

Grabbing him I did what I had to do. I set him in the utility tub, grabbed the sprayer, and doused him in bleach. Maybe not bleach, but he was sanitized, rediapered, and safely secured into his high chair to a chorus of "Grill cheesh in apples, peas!" was sang over and over like a mantra from somewhere in the kitchen.

"Zo! We just had breakf - " I stopped talking as I realized it was noon, and we had breakfast more than five hours earlier.

"Two grilled cheeses coming up!" I said aloud as my head said, Lord knows your brother will need something in his stomach after that doozy!

I remembered to scrub my hands and in doing so could still smell something more like a septic tank than a grilling sandwich. If the (real) dog had another accident in the house, she's outside the rest of the day!

Nope. Not the dog. Upon further investigation (ok, a sniff test that lead me back to myself) I realized I was covered in some diaper damage and stripped down to my skivvies... except I had yet to get a bra laundered for the day, so skivvies meant black socks and old pink Hanes panties a size too small. Not to worry - get the sandwiches cut (triangles for Zoe, tiny pieces for the little man) and I'll hop into the shower.

As I leaned over to stop the chocolate milk from spilling all over the table, Zoe screamed, "Mom! Get your nipple off my grilled cheese!"

Sometimes, you just gotta laugh. So I laughed until I hurt and made chocolate milk blow out Zoe's nostrils. The doorbell rang and realized all three of us were topless, only in undies and socks, and it was a December day in Iowa. I threw on some clothes out of the dirty pile on the kitchen island and just laughed when the delivery man said, "Sure wish I could sit around and play with my kids all day, too!"

Me, too.

So I stopped the fridge clean out, carpet scrubbing, and dishes-doing and joined Zoe in the Dancing Dancing Booty Dance while Xander clapped along.