This Is Why I Need You Home Earlier

Hey Greg,

Remember that conversation we had last night - where I begged you to somehow make it so you could be home around 5 at least 2 or 3 evenings in the week? And remember how you countered that getting home around 7 was still about an hour before bed time? And remember how frustrated I was by the whole discussion, how you kept poo-pooing all my arguments, all my pleading?

Well?

Cri had a friend over; they were watching PBS in the TV's room. I was feeding Sagan in the library and pondering what on earth I would be able to scrape up for dinner. Crichton asks me if I can come downstairs to the TV room. It sounds urgent so I pop Sagan off; she starts crying. Cri is having some technical difficulties with battery power packs ... then I see the huge bloodstain on my carpet. HUGE. White (ish) carpet. OMgoodgravvy. "WHERE'S CANON?!"

"Hi mom," he says from behind the train table, then goes back to slurping directly from the ketchup bottle - he figured out how to take the pour spout top off. What a clever boy we have.

At least it's not blood.

Cri and his friend had just sat there watching Curious George, letting him do it. I jokingly point the finger of blame a them as I get out my green machine.

The spray thingy is not functioning.

Sagan is on the couch. Wailing.

I bash the stupid thing (the vacuum, not, i repeat NOT the baby) as hard as I can (cuz I'm getting very frustrated) and it starts working. See, it works sometimes.

As I suck the ketchup up - Cri's friend says, "EEEEWWWWWW!!!!!!"

I look up and see Canon, sitting on the banana chair, diaperless, innocently yanking on his poop covered boy parts. POOP COVERED.

"CANON!"I squawk. He jumps up and runs to the stairs, hitting his head on the railing.

Now Canon and Sagan are both screaming; a most intense duet.

I run up to Canon and get poop on my pants as he demands hugs and kisses to rectify the terrible wrongs of the universe a.k.a. his bonked head. I extract myself, locate the diaper wipes and begin wiping, from the toes up to his belly.

Somewhere around the scrotum, but after the anus, as I'm reaching for the 23rd wipe, he runs up the stairs and up to his room, slamming the door.

Sagan's cries have intesified in both octave and urgency. I ask Crichton to pick her up. He asks his friend to do it. "Just put her in her car seat, PLEASE. So she doesn't roll off the couch!" I resume the ketchup clean-up, move on to the poop covered banana chair, then that black banana stain, and yesterday's OJ spill. The poop water tank is full, Sagan is distraught. Canon is quiet. I must locate Canon.

I run upstairs and find him on the top bunk, "Look mommy, I touch cee-wing."

"Get down here now!"

"No. I touch cee-wing."

He has is tongue sticking out a little between his teeth and is smiling, teasing me.

I vary my approach, "If you come down I will blow some bubbles."

He pauses to consider my very generous offer. Sagan is still unhappy.

Canon agrees and comes down the ladder, dirty bum first. I give him one last once over with a wipe and put a diaper on him and walk out the door.

"MMMOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!! BBBBBUUUUUBBBBBUUUUUUSSSSSSSS!!!!!" he schreeches.

"Oh yeah, okay."

I grab the bubble container, he follows me out the back door. I blow as many bubbles as I can, as fast as I can. A little light headed, I run in to save Sagan.

Just as I get her back on the boob, a FREAKING knock at the CURSED door! Another little friend, "Can I come in and play with Crichton?" I think is what she said, but it was hard to tell over Sagan's cries.

"Sure, why not. Don't mind the mess."

Phone rings - friend #1's mom "Send him home anytime."

My mommy senses tingle ... where's Canon?

Asleep in the chair. And you and I both know, at 5pm, that is a terrible bad thing.

So, now, I type this as I finally finish feeding Sagan. I still don't know what's for dinner, but pizza and fast food are certainly off the list unless I want that $35 fee tacked onto the total. Canon's gonna be super fun to get to sleep tonight. I'm hungry. I can't even start dinner until Sagan says she's done.

And you'll be home to help out in an hour. Or two.

Do you freaking see why it might be useful to have you home a little earlier once in a FREAKING while??

Sincerely,

Mrs. B. Roth