Title: "Add Eggs, Then Beat in the Soap"
Title: "Add Eggs, Then Beat in the Soap"
"Need clean-up, Mommy!" She yells these words as I see her blur by the door to our bedroom. This isn't a good sign, not with this toddler of mine. You never know what I will walk in and see.
I follow the trail of paper towels she has unrolled, I presume, to clean the mess but it also works to mark her trail.
Oh, man! Words cannot express the sight.
The fridge door is open, several eggs lying smashed inside a mess of...is that a sprayed pattern of syrup?
I spot her near the edge of this oozing mess. "I use soap, Mommy!" and yes, she was, enthusiastically spraying purple dish soap into the sticky, eggy mess.
"Ah..give me, I mean, oh man!" I look at her sticky hair, and hands and feet and clothes and the floor, trying to decide where to start.
"Ah...throw that soap in the sink, NOW, OK, I mean now and then...just um, stand there, just a minute." I run quickly across the sticky carpet (oh great) to our bathroom, grabbing a green bath towel.
"OK, good, now, um, let's go take a bath! You like baths!" I throw the towel around her, mess and all and carry her to the bathroom, my jeans and shirt taking a nice eggy, soapy dose of wetness on the short trip.
"Stand here, while I, oh well," I give up asking this child to be calm, for she is never still. She leaves sticky, soapy prints on the bathroom floor as I run the bath water.
I remove that cute dress I especially picked for playgroup this morning. One thing I do know, she won't be wearing that today, which reminds me, my outfit, too, is a total loss. Man! This is my only pair of jeans right now! I sigh and gently start to scrub the different layers of messy liquid from my soft little toddler.
"Bubbles, yea! Bubbles!" she giggles, splashing in the suds from all the dishsoap that covered her body.
And in my mommy heart, I try to treasure those giggles even as I realize just how late we will be today.
Soon, there will be no messes. No trails of wasted towels, no broken eggs. Soon, less messes...and less giggles. Someday she will think with her head instead of just her heart. Someday perhaps I'll long for the messes, the days of mischief where she lived close enough to touch, to wash, to cradle in my arms once she is clean again.
She is mine for just a few years, just a few years more. The last baby of all.
I sigh, pop in a video. Next, my clothes, then the kitchen.
So little time for hugs, cuddles, and reading story books.
Ah, well. The floor needed a good scrub anyways. And at least now I have an interesting reason why we are yet again late for playgroup. And to think, this week I was sure we would be on time! I begin my scrubbing.
(NOTE: Sadly, this is non-fiction. And a carpet stain nearby never did come out. And yes, the baby grew. She is 5 1/2 years old now...)