Two things. 1) I lost all my underwear and 2) our smoke alarms work. This is a clean post, I promise.
The joy of having children is that life is a giant game of hide and go seek. Somedays you loose your sanity and have to hunt to find it, other days it’s your underwear. When I say I lost my underwear I mean all of it except that not so great stuff that you hide in the very back of your drawer for emergency use either. It was an emergency this week which was why I spent the entire day trying to secretly hike up the dragging drawers without bringing attention to myself.
Monday I washed all my clothes in one separate load, free of little pink little girl clothes that like to bleed and get on favorite white shirts, not that it’s ever happened. Plus we all know that I am way too clumsy to actually wear white. I folded about 7 loads of laundry that day and placed it all in folded piles on the coffee table and told the oldest girl that she had to put it all up. She knows that when she has to put up the laundry to just put my clothes in neat piles on my bed. I put up my shirts and pants that night before going to bed and never realized that the giant pile of all my underwear had mysteriously disappeared. Three days later when all the good underwear had been worn, I realized that it was missing. Have you ever asked a 7 year old where she put something? It’s kinda like asking her to explain the theory of relativity while sucking helium from a balloon. So since Wednesday the emergency drawers have come into play. Let’s not even talk about that hardship.
Of course no one had seen the huge pile of underwear, not to be confused with pile of huge underwear. It wasn’t in anyone else’s drawers, in any closets, or under anyone’s beds (even though we have a dog that hoards underwear under our bed)
Hu. It had disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle that is our home. That was until I closed the bathroom door today on the outside of the door, instead of my usual hiding place inside the bathroom, and there was the pile of underwear, tucked away in the corner behind the door just where I had told her to put them (that’d be sarcasm for the Sheldon Cooper’s of the world.)
So now I know, choose carefully in what I tell her to put away. Underwear, no. Chocolate or coffee, no. My husband’s Star Wars Collectibles? Yes.
Thursday was spent cleaning the house because it had exploded and my mother in law is allergic to house explosions. Well maybe just because she was coming to visit but I have a flair for the dramatic. So while I was upstairs trying to clean the three year old’s room to overcome her dump and run method of organization, the smoke alarm downstairs went off. The two oldest and myself went running down the stairs to find out what was going on. The three year old, Princess Newbie, was supposed to be watching a movie in the living room but in reality, she was making toast in the kitchen. Let me, the bad parent of the week, say that again MY THREE YEAR OLD WAS MAKING TOAST and the toaster was set to the darkest setting. The toast was black and the alarm was going off even though I could not visibly see smoke.
Now I feel much better about the smoke alarms since they didn’t go off at all the last time I forgot to open the fireplace flue and the house filled with smoke (again). Also the toaster will no longer live on the counter and will probably start an eternal game of cabinet hide and go seek so she won’t find it.
Not to mention that she didn’t even get to eat the rock hard black toast because the dog stole it out of her hand. There were tears over the dog stealing her toast and then mad little stomps when I had the serious talk with her about why she doesn’t make her own toast.
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