I hear the girls thumping around upstairs. Now Kate is gone with Jayden to the store, so I can't do what I normally do, which is to yell at her to go get them (ha, just kidding, honeypie). I look at the clock. It's 1:15 p.m. This inspires some profanity from me. Now granted most everything the kids do these days inspires that, but in this case, 1:15 p.m. sucks, cause that means they haven't even napped a half hour.
Naps are for them, but mostly they're for parents, and not only so you're not dealing with little Linda Blairs by that afternoon, but for an hour or two when you're not being hounded for juice or snacks or TV or saying things like OMGCRIPESWILLYOUPLEASESTOPJUMPINGONTHECOUCHIVETOLDYOUTHAT50TIMES.
So, when that's taken away from you, well, that sucks. So I made the decision NOT to let that be taken away from me. As long as the girls aren't screaming, I would enjoy my soup in peace.
I would, of course, regret that decision.
(This is a literary device we call "foreshadowing." It means something bad is about to happen. Very bad. Historically bad. If you want to you can skip down to that part now. Ready? Here it comes).
I finished my soup - yummy - and went upstairs to see what all the noise was about. Unfortunately I smelled something bad before I even opened the door. This is never a good sign when you're a parent of three kids under 5. When I did, in fact, open the door, I didn't see the girls. Instead, I saw hell!!!!1111
(No really. I know that sounds cheesy but read on).
There was poop.
It really looked like all the toddlers in our city decided to dump the contents of their diapers on the carpet. I quickly closed the door, took three quick breaths, and starting calling the girls, hoping that a demon didn't cast a spell that turned them into poop. Sorta. At this point maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
When I did find them walking down the stairs - how the hell did they get by me? - I glanced down at Allie's hands and saw brown. I knew what it was, but in the state of shock, my mind sort of hoped that they were playing with Play-Doh. It wasn't Play Doh.
"OK, Ok, ok," I said. "It's going to be OK."
In the tub with you both.
"Um, Kate," I said as she brought in groceries. "I'll take the girls if you take the room."
"What?" she said.
"Oh, just wait," I said.
After washing off both of the girls while fighting a strong urge to hurl my soup into the tub, I managed to get them both clean and smelling like apples and not the death that surrounded them.
Jayden, who once puked at one of the girl's diapers, came upstairs despite my warning, looked in their room, said, "ew" and dashed downstairs.
Yeah, I know, buddy.
So Sunday, as I put diapers on the girls for their nap again, I explained to them that IF they did poop to yell "Daaaaaaaaady" and I would come clean them up before they took care of it themselves.
I turned out the light.
Five minutes later, I heard "Daaaaaaaady," and tore a hole in the time-space continuum, bowling over the dog and almost breaking four bones along the way. I rushed upstairs, breathing hard, and opened the door.
They were both in their beds.
"Ha ha, he he he," Andie said and looked at me, grinning.
NOT funny, girls. Not funny.