Wake to the pitter patter of little feet. See a small shadow dart into my bedroom, snatch Mr. Andi’s Kindle Fire off the nightstand, and make a break for the living room. Weigh the possible ramifications of ignoring the thief and going back to sleep. Drag myself out of bed and recapture the Kindle.
Feel only a little bit ridiculous singing the “Celebrate!” song while dumping an impressive amount of pee pee into the potty. Clap while Nathan flushes. Make a dramatic production out of presenting him with a single M&M as a reward for his efforts.
Spot a giant brownish-yellow smear on the couch. Realize that Nathan has pooped in his underwear a mere ten minutes after going pee pee potty. Mutter a string of obscenities as I wipe the offending smears off the various surfaces he’s contaminated. Slip outside, looking furtively around first for any neighbors who might see me in my pajamas, to deposit the now obsolete pull-up in the garbage can.
Finish cleaning up and wash off my hands and forearms in the kitchen sink. Wonder where Nathan is. Hear a rustle from the front room and go investigate. Find Nathan snapping photos of the desk and sofa with my iPhone. Herd him back into the living room, where he begins playing with his trucks, driving them around the living room.
Attempt to check my email.
Notice that Nathan is no longer in the living room, and I can no longer hear the trucks rolling around on the floor. Hear a tiny chuckle and go investigate. Find Nathan in the laundry room, imitating the dogs drinking out of the water bowl. Herd him back into the living room.
Attempt to check my email again.
The dogs finish eating and drinking now that Nathan has been removed from the area of their food and water bowls. One of them rings the bell to go out, so I stop what I’m doing to open the door. After they both exit, I pull it closed, forgetting to lock the deadbolt.
Hear a jingle and notice that the back door is ajar. Hop up and hurry over to it, where I see Nathan gleefully jump off the back porch and race across the yard. Call to him to return to the house in the off chance that THIS will be The Day that he finally decides to listen and obey.
Realize that, indeed, today is not The Day and weigh the risk of being seen in my pajamas by the neighbors and/or men building the pool up the street. Decide that the much more open space of our backyard, on a corner lot with a picket fence next to the main thoroughfare in and out of the subdivision, is much too risky relative to the garbage can on the side of the house, and call for Sarah Kate, who is also wearing pajamas, to go get her brother.
Discover how brilliant my oldest child is when she walks out onto the back porch, then calls cheerfully, “Oh, no! He’s going to get me!” and fake-runs back into the house. Nathan falls for the ruse and rushes inside. The dogs follow.
Attempt to check my email again.
Hear a tiny chuckle and go investigate. Find Nathan in the laundry room once again, imitating the dogs drinking out of the water bowl. Herd him back into the living room.
Decide, after Nathan has pushed his trucks off the coffee table onto the hardwood floor one too many times, that perhaps it might be time for a morning outing into the backyard.
Herd Nathan into his room to put socks and shoes on him, since earlier this week he managed to find the one new ant bed in the yard and now his feet and ankles are covered in bites. Notice that his room has a distinct pee aroma. Cross fingers that the smell is coming from his laundry basket and not the carpet.
Both of us now clad in appropriate attire, I follow Nathan out to the backyard, retrieving his tee ball bat, tee, and practice balls from the toy bin and the bubble mower from under a tree. Settle into a chair to watch him run wild.
Find that the joy of being in the the great outdoors is short lived when Nathan dumps a bucket full of rainwater down his front side and then rolls around in the grass imitating the dogs.
Wonder if it’s too early for sangria.