I learned a few things today.
For one, it’s a good idea to close the blinds when your toddler decides he wants to help you sweep the floor. Especially when he’s headstrong and insists on pushing a broom three times his size back and forth across the whole room by himself. And then you’ll wish you had soundproof windows when he throws himself to the ground, wailing like he’s been shocked with a police issued taser, all because you offered to help.
Your neighbors will probably think a few things in quick succession, and none of them are good:
- You’ve hired a midget stripper to clean your house.
- You’re one of those weirdos with a diaper fetish, because the midget stripper is Swiffering your floor while wearing only a smile and some Blue’s Clues Luvs.
- Whilst in your employ, you shot the stripper because he/she was not executing his/her leeeeetle job quickly enough.
- You’re a crappy shot, because the midget stripper is now rolling around on the floor in a pile of lint and crushed Cheerios howling like a bonobo monkey during the full moon, instead of quietly exsanguinating on your floor.
And if your neighbors are nosy like mine (I’m talking to YOU, Lady whose spandex shorts ride up her buttcrack so far it looks like she’s smuggling two suffocating puppies in her back pockets), they will try to nonchalantly peer through the window as they walk by on their nightly lap around the block and wonder if (instead of the whole midget stripper thing) you’ve decided to conscript a wayward toddler into indentured servitude. And then you’ll wave at them and pray to all things you hold holy that they won’t call DHS.
Especially when said toddler starts yelling, “MEAN MOMMY” at the top of his lungs while he pretends to bang his head on the floor.
I also learned that it’s not a good idea to use a SpongeBob Square Pants Band-Aid to cover up an ingrown toenail if in fact your son’s favorite cartoon character is Bob. Because when you put him down on the floor for a diaper change, he will notice the new fashion statement you’ve decided to make with your big toe and try to rip it off your foot, because MOMMY! IT’S-A BOB! (poke poke puuuuull) And you will try not to cry when he keeps prodding that super sensitive recently de-fleshed area that hurts to even think about, all while fighting the urge to jump up on the damned futon to escape his little squishy fingers.
And you while die a little on the inside when you realize that this morning, you ran out of Band-Aids and the only big ones you could find at the store were more effing SpongeBob ones. Obviously, SpongeBob is an agent of Satan, masquerading as a dimwitted seadweller.
And just now I realized that my OCD is a little more, um, alive and kickin’ than I had dared to believe. Because seriously, I didn’t really learn anything else today, but I’ll be damned if I can write a list with only two items on it. Well, that and the fact that there’s a bare spot on my sofa table where one of my leafy buddies used to live before I accidentally committed Peace Lily man(plant)slaughter a few weeks ago is re-heh-heh-heally bugging the crap out of me because now my decor is not symmetrical.
And now I’m getting annoyed because everything I’ve just written is one long run-on sentence. I give up. I just can’t win tonight.