Sara and I are staying at my sister's during demolition. We're sharing a room, so the days start early.
Today she had me up at 7:30 -- not all that bad, all things considered. Here is my experience thus far, a mere 45 minutes into the day.
I hear: "Mama, are you up? Are you all done sleeping? Are you all done sleeping? Mama? Hi Mama. You get up now? You put your pants on. Mama, I all poopie. I poopie Mama. I all poopie. I go potty. Mama, I need to go potty."
I see: Ink pen scribbles. All over her body. From her nose to her toes. I don't know exactly when or how she got the pen.
I feel: The world's heaviest, wettest diaper. But no poopie. I put her on the potty and throw away the wet diaper.
I hear: "MAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! I ALL DONE GOING POOOOOTTTTTTYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!! MMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I see: Sara climbing up on the dining room table and helping herself to some 2-day-old doughnuts.
I feel: My heavy eyelids, begging me to get back into bed.
I hear: A string of beads clanking on the hardwood floors.
I hear: "Mama, may I have some cho-ma-milk?" "Ank you."
I see: Two sippy cups on the window sill, one blue & one orange.
I hear: "May I have the orange one? Anks."
I feel: Sara stepping on my toes.
I hear: More bead clanking.
I see: Sara holding the beads behind her, at the small of her back.
I hear: "I have a long long tail! Like a kitty!" (Seriously? Does a two-year-old say stuff like that??)
I feel: Exhausted already.
I hear: "MAMA I WANNA COLOR" (coming from another room)
I see: Sara rummaging through something to pull out a coloring book and a 96-pack of Crayolas my sister has bought. I set her up in her booster chair and breathe a sigh of relief that she is contained for 2 minutes.
I hear: The sound of 96 crayons hitting the table. And the first one being broken in half.
I feel: Like a schmuck. I should have known better.
I smell: Trouble. It's going to be a long, long day.