Thursday, July 1, 2010
This morning, I stole a moment to go upstairs to my room and make a phone call. Jack was out perusing the neighborhood for playmates. Violet was asleep and Van was eating crackers. So upstairs I went for some quiet.
After the phone call, I made the foolish mistake of opening my laptop. I became engrossed in e-mails and blog things, then Van came in my room. He climbed up on my bed and he smelled funny, like poop and maple syrup. "Mama, poop". How odd, I thought, his messy diapers now smell like maple syrup. I could get used to this. Then, as if in slow motion, a sticky hand planted it's self on my shoulder and I knew. I knew something was terribly wrong downstairs. I then said outloud, "Dear Lord, please give me patience with this child. Please help me to not kill him." Then him and I descended down the stairs.
And it was just as bad as I thought.
An entire bottle of *maple syrup had been artfully dispersed on the kitchen floor and the carpet. He even went to the trouble to get a DVD case and decorate that. Poor Fraulein Maria was drowned in maple syrup.
I scrubbed, mopped, wiped and washed the kitchen and carpet. As I finished the half hour long task, I threw away a few paper towels and noticed the empty syrup bottle in the trash. The little dear had managed to throw away the empty bottle when he was done. I suppose he deserves some recognition for that good deed.
*Thank the heavens above that it was the crappy fake maple syrup and not the golden goodness real maple syrup in the fridge.