Just Another Morning in Paradise…

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that in addition to providing rundowns of our play and learning activities and adorable antics, I like to mix things up on occasion by sharing the not-so-glamorous side of life as a SAHM of twin toddlers. Once in awhile, something happens at the Twodaloo house that is so horrifying/hilarious that I am compelled to commemorate it here. This next story is no exception…read at your own risk. You have been warned.

Diapers and Beagles and Nipples…Oh My

So one morning last week, I decided to take a shower. Sounds easy enough, right? Not in my life.

You see, taking a shower on a weekday when it’s just me and the twins here takes some engineering. Seeing as they spend most of the time either screaming at me to get out of the shower, screaming at each other, or screaming to get in with me (which usually entails them jumping naked in and out of the shower and tracking water all over the house), it’s not really a pleasant experience. I could have showered early before my husband left for work, but seeing as I had spent half the night coughing, and the other half up listening to one of the twins coughing, I was feeling a little sluggish. But then I realized we needed to go to the grocery store, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t showered the day before. Ugh.

So anyway, to the shower. I brought some blocks into the bathroom and dumped them into our large garden tub (no water) which sometimes occupies them long enough for me to get a good start. Sometimes I have the foresight to pull out a cool “tot tray” type of activity to entertain them. Not today. They play for about 5 minutes in the tub with the blocks, and then start throwing the blocks out of the tub one by one. Then they hoist themselves over the side (it was better when they were smaller and unable to climb out) and the fun really begins. The next few minutes are spent climbing in and out of the cabinets underneath our sinks (I removed everything from them long ago) and then dragging all of the dirty clothes out of the hamper in my closet and shoving them into said cabinets. After this is accomplished, they decide to run around the bathroom chasing each other and yelling at the tops of their lungs.

Syd: “Bubba be nice! Be easy Bubba! Ok Sydney. Ok. I gotcha blanket! You can’t habbit! No Bubba don’t take! Nooooooo!”

Will: “DOOOOOOOOHHH (no) SIDDEEEE!”

At this point, I’m out of the shower. I remove the hair tie that has been acting as a makeshift bungee to keep the bathroom doors shut and let them spill out of the bathroom into our master bedroom. I hear them thunder into the living room and hurry to find a pair of clean underwear before they return for round two.

Ding! As I’m listening to their shrieks, I hear Will burst into maniacal laughter, which is never good. This particular laugh is one he reserves for the instances he is pestering our beagle, Coolidge, which rarely ends well because Coolidge is on the cranky side, especially when Will is involved. I rush out of the bathroom, poised to step in between my son and the biting beagle, and see that all three of them have somehow ended up back in the bedroom and are clumped behind our bed, which is where the dog bed is located. Stunned, I also realize that my son is no longer wearing his diaper. Uh- oh.

I hurry over to assess the situation. Please note that I am currently wearing only underwear. And any smile I had disintegrates when I realize that the twins are so fascinated with Coolidge because he is currently in possession of Will’s DIRTY diaper. He has squirreled it into his bed and is in the process of ripping it into strips and EATING them as the twins whoop to high heaven and I try my hardest not to vomit.

After a few seconds processing the situation, I leap into action the way only a twin-mom-faced-with-a-crisis-who-happens-to-be-wearing-nothing-but-Granny-panties-and-a-frown can. I pull the twins away from the dog, grab the diaper with one hand and the beagle with the other, and haul them all out of the bedroom. I lay Will down on the floor to clean him up, since he is obviously filthy. He has been getting taller and leaner very quickly all of the sudden, and the size of diapers that fit him before now falls off if they become the least bit wet or soiled. Different diapers is one of the things on my grocery list. As I try to clean his squirmy body, he gleefully shouts “Mama! Mama! Coolie eat POOP! Coolie eat POOP! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Sydney skips around us, adding her own interpretation of events. “Coowidge eatta diaper. Bubba diaper fall off. Coowidge habbit. No no, Coowidge. Mama wipe you. Mama nipples. Ok.”

This is complete chaos.

To make matters worse, the beagle is acting like a tiger that’s had a taste of human flesh. He is stalking around us, trying to weasel his way under my arms and get his nose into the “action.” I mean, who wants to go back to dog food after that, right? Appalled, I react swiftly, and the beagle is unceremoniously plonked on the back porch.

After my son is cleaned up, I return to the scene of the crime and clean up all the bits of diaper and whatever else is left behind. Then I realize that I STILL need clothing. It’s like a scene from National Geographic up in here.

After we are ALL dressed (thank God) and ready to go, I realize that it is now 11:30. My plans of a pleasant trip to the grocery store followed by lunch at the park are long gone. We have just enough time to get the necessities and eat some lunch before nap time rolls around. Oh well, hopefully this afternoon will be better. And there’s always tomorrow, right?

P.S. Anybody want a beagle??

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