Tuesday? Thursday?

Today, in some ways, felt like one of my typical Tuesdays.  We had a very slow-moving morning filled with toddlers refusing to put on underpants and shirts and socks and everything else that normal humans put on in order to both start their day and get out of the door and into the world.  We are doing a little Bible Study/Mom’s Group thing on Thursdays this year, which I am loving, but we are rarely on time (shocking, I know).  We pulled up a good HOUR late (which is fine—these people are moms.  They know that sometimes your children wake up and decide they will not wear pants), and much to both our shock (mine) and excitement (the boys’), there was a HUGE power truck outside of the building that was working on the lines.  The boys were thrilled.  I began to wonder how we were going to get into the door . . . you see, Anna is not walking yet (bless her chubby little thighs) and wrangling two boys in a parking lot while trying to enter into possibly locked doors while strong-arming a chubby, 25 pound baby who would rather crawl or try-to-walk than be held was not sounding lovely to me.  So, by the grace of God (and perhaps some recollection of or learning from Tuesdays past), I decided NOT to haul all of my children into the building right away . . . and I stopped and got out of my car and asked the nice bystanders what was happening.  They informed me that the power was out and something about something needing a repair and windows being painted or something like that . . . I nodded and said mmm-hmmm, and then I asked the amazing question (which I still cannot believe that my semblance of a mother’s brain even managed to conjure up):  So, if the power is out, that means the elevator doesn’t work, right?  My boys’ nursery is on the 3rd floor of this building in the fan.  That means climbing LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of stairs with two toddlers and a refusing-to-be-wrangled yet non-walking, chubby (and adorable) Sister.  They replied:  The elevator does not work when the power is out.  Surely that makes sense.  At that point, I raised my little white flag of surrender and drove off thinking about the freedom of the next 90 minutes of un-planned time . . . and oh-so-thankful that I was not standing at the bottom of three flights of stairs in the dark wondering how to get my kids up to their nursery! 

The following excitement also happened today, on our almost-Tuesday:

Anna stuck her hand in the tinkle in the tiny potty.  I was so disgusted I started screaming.  Hopefully, she will learn never to go near the tiny potty until she is prepared to use it herself.  (note:  the tiny potty was formerly in a location that only the boys could access—not anna.  but, in this location, they could hear the furnace humming and they became such wrecks about the “scary noise” that they would try to move the tiny potty.  and them relocating tiny potty is definitely WORSE.  trust me.)

I was in the kitchen pulling together some snacks, and when I came back into the den, I saw this—for the first time EVER.  The boys got so excited and started cheering and squealing, so Anna turned around and tumbled down about three stairs . . . but I caught her.  She cried a bit, but recovered well.  I am beginning to worry about what my life will look like when she can run from me.  Oh me.  OH MY.

And, lastly, I ran down to the basement to put some food in the fridge down there (which did take me a few minutes).  And, when I came upstairs, my children were gone.  I realized that they had unlocked and opened the front door and were standing, once again, on our stoop.  For a while, they had been asking before opening the door, but that fell apart today.  They later told me that they wanted to see our neighbors, but my neighbors told me they had been out there a while . . . just two boys and a baby in the background standing on the front stoop.  Regardless of their intentions, it was NOT a good thing.  We had a good conversation about why you don’t go out the front door whenever you want to, but I think I have a new item on Daddy’s weekend to-do list . . . you know, part of our Protect the Rascals campaign.  (other to do list items that have been a part of this campaign have included hot gluing all of the rods into the curtains and shades so that they can’t use them as weapons against each other, and duct taping the door knob cover so they cannot break out of their room or down the stairs without permission!)  Oh, parenting! 

And, as I am writing this (at midnight—WAY past my bedtime), some alarm clock is going off . . . I bet I know who set it!  My elves!  They work constantly and often against me all the day long! 

Okay, nighty  night!

Happy Thursday.  Friday cannot come soon enough!