Crying Over Spilt Milk

It’s not a cliche in this house.  Just this morning, like a dozen other days in our calendar year, there was crying over spilt milk.  The twins, especially Sadee, want to “do it myself.”  Where does a parent draw the line?  And most of the time, they don’t ask first.  This is how our day starts.

Later, I’m in the office when I hear the water run too long in the bathroom.  A soaking wet stuffed toy obviously needs a bath.  Water does not stay contained to the sink or counter.  I wipe up the mess and hang up kid’s clothes to dry.  I now hear a bang in the kitchen.  Too late, the tornado moved on to a new region of Cantu County.  “We just wanted a snack.”  So apparently it takes climbing the forbidden mountain of pantry shelves and pulling down all of the cereal boxes at once.  You know all three kids won’t eat one kind of snack.  So while I sweep up that mess, Josh comes running to tell me that Morgan puked in front of the TV.  She drinks a lot of milk so that should smell like roses.

Now I hear too much noise in my office.  Any noise is too much noise when kids are alone in there.  I run.  It’s too late.  Morgan is on my desk coloring in the pictures on Josh’s favorite website, Thomas and Friends, which does have a paintbrush page.  But Morgan doesn’t know how to use the mouse yet.  So how do you color in the engine picture?  With a crayon, of course.

We’ve come full circle.  I should have just stayed in my office chair to prevent at least one of these messes.  Oops, got to run.  They are trying to unlock the back door to go play.  Guess they forgot another rule about not touching the keys.  Who’s crying by the end of this crazy day?  Not the sweet angels fast asleep in their beds.