The P's like to play a game they call "Party". Basically, they go in Pman's room, turn his radio up way too loud and make a mess. They dance around the room, jump on his bed and make a "beach" out of his sleeping bag, pillows and stuffed animals.
They usually play this while I put away laundry, brush my teeth or change the sheets. After about that length of time a fight breaks out and we move onto our next thing.
Today, they wanted to show me their "Party" so I stood in Pman's doorway and watched them act like crazy fools and make their beach. The radio, which has been known broadcast everything from country to gospel to the local Spanish speaking station, blared Phillip Phillips "Gone, Gone, Gone"
for the occasion.
If you are a mother, are soon to be a mother or have a mother, this song will likely make you cry. At least that is my reaction every time I hear it, even if I'm struggling to hit 5 miles on the treadmill at the crowded, sweaty gym.
There I stood, this afternoon, blissfully tearing up as I watched my babies play with one another in an environment created by harmony, peace, love and whimsy.
After the song, a fight broke out over a necklace and the moment passed. I knew I would remember it for a long time though. My heart smiled I tell you.
Until I walked into my room to return to some chore. What is that is hear? Water? Running Water?
I was about to take a quick shower, did I turn it on already?
I reluctantly peeked into my bathroom. Like if I didn't actually look, the worst wouldn't actually be happening.
The facet for the bathtub, which the kids were play in pre-"Party", was on.
And facing the wrong way.
Instead of uselessly spilling water into the tub, it was even more uselessly spilling water all over the bathroom floor.
Flooded, well nearly anyway.
I did a sort of screamy, shrieking thing and yelled for Pman to get me some towels. He returned with a single hand towel.
He also informed me, "Baby Lady (BL I'm dropping the C) did it."
Idon'tcarewhodidit! Ineedamuchbiggertowel. Manymuchbiggertowels.
Not a speck of floor was dry.
I took a deep breath and cleaned it up. No biggie, no leaking, no major damage, although maybe I should wait a day or so before I make that final observation.
It was innocent, I know. I kept my cool, took my shower.
Then I marched them downstairs and tilted their heads back, with their chins angled toward the ceiling, I filled each of their mouths with Redi-Whip whipped cream.
Punishment enough I'd say.