Sometimes I wonder what I do all day. Seriously, like where did the hours of 10 AM - 2 PM go? I'd like to say that I spend them doing something productive, but looking around my house there is plenty of evidence to the contrary. In fact, the evidence seems to be mounding exponentially. I have a condition called Fibromyalgia and sometime go into what is known as a Fibro-fog, but I can only fall back on that excuse so often. Most days, I have no explaination.
Take the other day for example. I heard Hewitt crying in my bedroom. I went in there to see Jack trying to look innocent while standing over the bassinet. I fully expected to lift my crying baby out of his resting place, but guess what...the bassinet was empty. Jack had tried to "help" him out of his blanket and ended up rolling him right out of his bed and onto the floor like a meatball off a mound of spaghetti.
Not long after that I decided to bathe both Kenley and Jack. While they were bathing I went into my bedroom, which is adjacent to the bathroom, to fold laundry. I heard lots of splashing and went in to check on them. They had decided to take a bubble bath...by pouring all the shampoo into the tub. Seriously, it was a brand new bottle of shampoo! The water was so thick with suds I had to drain it and spray them down with the shower head.
Later that day I came into my front room and found that Jack had relocated an entire tube of lipstick (which begs the question, "why do I even own lipstick?") from inside my purse to all over my wood floor and newly shampooed cream carpet!
Then the next day Jack found a tub of vaseline and decided it would do wonders on the walls and carpet in his bedroom. I may have lost conciousness at some point because I really don't know how I handled it. He's still alive, so it couldn't have been all that bad.
Now that I think about it, there's one common factor in all of this...Jack. And all I can think to do is look at him and ask, "Where is your mother?"