Outhouse?

We live on the corner of a quiet cul-de-sac and the main entrance into our neighborhood. A lot of cars buzz by, all day long. The late afternoon hours see more traffic, and coincide with the witching hours at our house. You know, the time a few hours after naps (when they take them) and before dinner (and when daddy comes home). The witching hours.

Hands-down, it was one of the top five worst afternoons ever around this place. Kids were nuts, neither napped, and a storm was rolling in. Storm + Rain = Muddy Backyard we cannot play in. Ugh.

Zoe was running around on the deck, smashing her new Easter-egg shaped chalk all over the wood, house, and occasionally the sliding glass door. To my knowledge, there were six eggs in the package, however, after said eggs were plucked from between her toes/hair/fingers/knees, she still managed to find large pieces to continue this miserable cycle until I almost screamed so loud it would knock her over. You know, I could picture myself as a cartoon and this tornado of hot air would just hit her and take her down as I just screamed, blowing her hair back until she plopped on the ground, staining her Dora's.

Instead, we talked calmly about poor choices, good choices, and how to model great behavior! SCORE! No spanks, just talking. Feeling like I did my job, almost smug as I sauntered into the house, I was snapped out of my reverie as Xander tottered on the brink of the bottomless stairs, one tiny step from a trip to the children's hospital. Again.

Scooping him up and pulling a green bead, dime, and half-rice krispie bar, respectively, from his storage hold (aka cheeks) I took him to his safe spot. The high chair that has a five-point harness, secured to the floor, and a tray to help wrangle him down. As I was securing the escape artist to his seat I looked up.

My daughter was bare naked. As in check-out-these-tan-lines bare naked.

"What the fu---" went through my head and was quickly interrupted with my mouth screaming, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Her eyes were bigger than UFO's as we made eye contact.

"Anything!"

"Anything? You aren't doing anything?"

"Anything!" as annoyance crept into her voice.

"WHY ARE YOU NAKED? Are you peeing?" opening the sliding door and stubbing my already broken baby toe on the threshold.

"I not peeing."

"What are you doing?"

"It feels good to be nakey!"

I was 99.9% sure she was peeing. However, I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Zoe was, afterall, two and curious. Maybe she did just want to feel the warm sunshine on her pasty-white ass cheeks. We pulled up her pants, I kissed her head, and we parted ways.

Xander had thrown all his toys off his tray and was trying to rock himself out of the safe seat and into harms way by way of a split noggin on the ceramic tile.

Glancing up, Zoe wasn't on the swing set. Heart thumping, I let Xander attempt to get a personalized baby helmet and walked out the backdoor. The school bus' wheels were screeching to a halt, kids hopping off, and a few started laughing. At me. No, following their gazes, I saw what they were laughing at. A little girl with pig tails, pink bows, shaking a tail feather. A naked tail feather.

"ZOE!"

"Anything."

"GET. IN. HERE. NOW."

"I not do ANYTHING!" (Slowly stopping her Elvis-inspired pelvic number.)

"You are naked and dancing like it's spring break on South Padre Island. Go. INSIDE. NOW."

She sauntered over to me, not even bothering to pick up her dress, undies, or socks, and went inside defeated.

I didn't even ask her to explain. She had pee running down her leg - must have been quite a show out there - and wiped her down, slipped clothes on, and drug her up to her bedroom for a "rest".

When I came down Xander was screaming, dinner was about to boil over on the clean stove, and I sat down and just started laughing.

The kid really does have some rhythm.