Silence. It's very very scary in these parts because you know something very bad has happened. Typically, I sprint for the bathroom first. I usually round the corner to find two pairs of dark brown, very guilty eyes, looking up from an object floating in the toilet. Typically, they're wet up to their elbows and sometimes beyond.
The twos have just about done us in and we're only about half way through. Someone had the nerve to say that the threes are the hardest. What?!
It is hard, ya'll, two two-year-olds whip my butt on a regular basis. I'm talking, poop on the hands, toys in the toilet, dog food in the mouth, hard. But it is seriously fun, after the fact, that is. Some days, it just cracks me up to think back on my last few hours with my two youngest. It's not funny at the time, and God knows I cry out to Him on a regular basis, and take things into my own hands and lose my temper on a regular basis, too.
When I left my teaching job, I seriously thought this would be a piece-o-cake. Me and my stinkin' pride and rainbows and unicorns concept of the future.
But, I am BLESSED, with a capital B. I LOVE my family. I LOVE!!!!!!!! staying home. Can you tell I love staying home?! I wouldn't want it any other way.
But there are days like this-when temper tantrums have been thrown, soup has been spilled, bowls have been broken, pants have been soaked-that cause me to write, to process.
It's cheap therapy, really.
Well, there are clothes calling my name, dishes to be put away, and list goes on and on.