So, first let me start this off by stating boldly that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. And when I say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I mean the side with bronchitis, pharyngitis, and the residue of a dream gone askew. Not only did that side of the bed affect the type of morning I would have, but also the fact that my three-year-old son had gotten up early to consume a whole bag of powdered doughnuts and in the process, unleashed my two dogs that were positioned in the part of the kitchen that kept the Krispy Kremes so nicely. Contemplating a state of awakeness, I hear a distant high pitched voice, “Mommy, the dogs pooped on the floor!” He’s screaming as if someone had hung him upside down on the side of a cliff. Of course, if he had not tried to be sneaky and consume the 5000 calories I insisted the day before he not consume, then maybe, just maybe, he and I both wouldn’t be in this pretty little pickle.
I make my way downstairs, and of course, there is the dog mess as my son had promised right at the bottom of the stairs. I hop over it in hopes it will disappear on my way to my coffee pot (who, by the way, is my absolute best friend). I proceed with fifteen scoops of Starbucks French roast and six cups of water, because yes, it is one of those days. I wait patiently for the coffee to brew as I prep myself for the disaster that awaits me.
After I sluggishly make my cup of joe, I walk back towards the stairs with a roll of paper towels, a plastic grocery bag, some all-purpose Lysol, one pink cleaning glove, and a frown ... only to find that my wish had come true! The feces had disappeared and I wonder if I am still sleeping.
Just then, my three-year-old pops his head around the corner with a smile that goes for a mile. “I did it!” he proclaims. I look at his hand and he has a roll of toilet paper and the missing pink cleaning glove on. “I flushed the puppy’s mess and I did it good,” he says, his smile still gleaming. If only I looked like that after cleaning poop off my floors, this would be a wonderful life. I check behind him to make sure he didn’t drop anything and it looks as though his mission was completed successfully. And all this time I thought maybe I wasn’t allowing him his independence by constantly following him around and hugging him every time his feelings got hurt. Maybe, just maybe, I am doing something right.