I did laundry last night, which is my second least favorite chore, it comes right behind cleaning bathrooms, which is why I am almost always happy to make coffee for my guests, but pale when they ask to use the bathroom. I had just dried a load of bedding for my daughter's crib, and in an usually illusive moment of domesticity, I promptly headed upstairs to make her bed. I left the the baby asleep in her swing, three playing their game boys on the sofa, and H parked in front of Dora on the big television.
I stripped the old sheet off, removed the various toys and crib attachments so that I could lift the mattress. I put the clean sheet on and bumper pad in the crib, replaced the odds and ends and headed back downstairs. I was up there, maybe eight minutes. TLL was still sleeping, the big three were still gaming, H was nowhere to be found. The front door was still locked and the sliding door was still chained so I knew that he hadn't escaped. The search commenced. We checked bathrooms, under beds, in cabinets, and finally the laundry room. I found him inside the washer basin with the cycle still on agitate.
"Look Mommy! I found bubbles," was all he had to say for himself. Surely, this child will kill me before he turns three.
Musings from the Big Pink: Dead at 25
1 day ago