Lap Time

It was one of those evenings that if you could hit fast forward, you would. In a heartbeat. Or TIVO it, pause, and then when things are calm you could go back and not miss the high points but definitely skip the lows. This not being an Adam Sandler or Jim Carey flick when we are handed such powers, Mr. & I just needed to hack our way through the tangly, thorny brush that was our family dinner hour.

It started with Zoe wanting to desperately help butter the baked potatoes. To the child-less reader, this may seem like an innocent wish on her part and a learning moment to boot. NOPE. It was a fight over getting the mail opener she mistook for a safety knife out of her sweaty grip before stabbing herself in her shirtless chest, realizing she had also climbed onto the counter and pulled out a steak knife as her backup buttering instrument of choice, and now had upped the ante to opening up her chest filet-style. Fantastic.

Skip to Xander doing his damndest to throw absolutely any item he could consecutively off her tray and onto the just vacuumed carpet. As a pea zinged past Mr.'s head he ducked and it made a nice SPLAT! on the cabinet.

"Niiiiiiiiiiiiice aim, lil' man!" as Mr. thought twice about filling his glass with Coke and ice. Yep, a generous splash of the Captain would help the night sail along smoothly.

We all ended up sitting down with a baby emptying his tray at record speed, a hubby with a lot more than a simple splash of courage in his cup, a shirtless, pant-less toddler licking spoonful's of butter off her carving knife, and one mom who needed a cocktail, night out, and make over but would be thrilled with a shower.

Instead of lifting our spirits with a "Yes! It's almost summer!" dinner from the world's best Montgomery Inn sauce all over our BBQ chicken, it just made us both a little more homesick for the Buckeye state.

After getting kids wiped down/sprayed off/sanitized, we the war begin. Xander had garnered all of Mr.'s attention with his dimples and sweetness, I was up to my ears in soap suds as I tried to chisel off the molten BBQ sauce desperately hoping to live forever in my new Pyrex pan, and Zoe had some unattended time on her hands.

Three* nicely folded piles sorted into laundry basket by recipient were stacked on the landing, ready to ascend the stairs to a closet or drawer before bed. *Although we do not have fancy-pants side loaders we do our best to shove the absolute most in each and every load in our decade old generic W/D combo. So, this was surely what most people would easily call six loads of clothes. I digress...

Little Miss Sunshine decided to knock over the piles and pretend to make it rain. Yep, she put up her new Tinkerbell umbrella and not only made it rain, but create what was surely something mother nature should take note on when she wants to give a region a serious wrath of her power.

Mixed, crumbled, and all over the place I just started screaming when I saw all the laundry I spent working on all day (which took away from my precious Facebook time) was now in worse shape than when it went into the wash, hours earlier.

After more than a little sassing back and a snide smile or two, Momma had to pull down some Dora panties and give her princess a smack. The princess was in a fit of tears as she headed to the highest room in the tallest castle and I wasn't sure if I was crying over the work ahead of me or because I had to spank my baby girl.

Mr., Baby X, and I folded, sorted, and stacked and I felt like I needed to puke. Like a dog hanging his head, I went into Zo's room and laid down with her on her bed. We talked for a long time about how much I love her and just want her to make great choices and learn how to respect people, things, and her home. She understood, wise beyond her years, and snuggled in.

"When you need some attention next time, maybe say, "I could use some lap time, okay, mom?" I whispered into her sweaty hairline as she snuggled against me.

"But Mom," her hair sticking to my cheek, "you are too big for my lap!"