All Present and Accounted For

Yesterday at 2:15 in the afternoon, Jack was asleep and I was doing dishes while the other two children played in the living room. Cubby wandered in to the kitchen and announced he would help. Although my knee-jerk reaction when faced with dishes "help" from kids is "No, thanks,*" I was already almost done, with just the silverware left to do. And Charlie wasn't in there demanding to help too.

So I told Cubby he could wash all the silverware for me. I showed him how to pull the utensils from the bottom of the dish pan, scrub them all over with the dishcloth, and then rinse them with the hot water. He grabbed an apron, pulled over his chair, and got to work.

I could get used to this.

At this point, I realized I hadn't heard anything from Charlie for a worrisomely long time. So I went on a Charlie hunt, which led me upstairs to the stereo in the hall. He was trying to turn on "cowboy music" (Chris Ledoux). He had obviously been in the forbidden territory of Grandma's bedroom, because he was holding the MiL's childhood stuffed puppy, named Dream, and wearing a pair of the MiL's high-heeled shoes.

I do not have a picture of this, much to my disappointment. And yours, I'm sure.

So, one boy in an apron doing dishes, and one in high heels? Modern men in the making right here at woodchuck central.

* I know, I know. Learning moments and teaching responsibility and all that. But all that water all over, and both of them always want to do it so they fight and, ugh, dishes suck enough without all that.

On Becoming a Cliche

That woman you saw hauling around a toddler and a baby at the grocery store this morning while wearing a fleece, dirty jeans, and running shoes? That was me.

That woman using one hand to help the toddler pee in the grocery store bathroom while holding the baby in the other arm? That was me.

That woman picking up blueberries in the produce section because her toddler slam-dunked the package into the cart and the top burst open and sprayed blueberries up to two feet away? That was me.

That woman who realized just as she unloaded all her groceries onto the conveyor that her wallet wasn't in her purse because it was in the diaper bag, which was still in the car? That was me.

That woman racing a full cart* plus baby out to the parking lot with the dubious "help" of the toddler, chattering all the while about "It's a race car! Let's see how fast we can get to the finish line!" to hurry the toddler along? That was me.

Me and dozens of other women all across America, I suspect. It's the Sisterhood of the Stay-At-Home Moms. We may be a cliche, but at least there's strength in numbers, right?

* I just realized this reads as if I loaded everything back in the cart and took it to the car without paying. For clarification: I paid with a check so I wouldn't have to go get my wallet, but then they insisted on seeing my driver's license, which they didn't tell me until after everything was bagged and back in the cart, so then I had to go to the car anyway to get my driver's license. In case you were consumed with curiosity.