It's Friday night...we're trying to get out of the house for our weekly excursion to "Pererra."
Husband is upstairs washing off the remnants of his hair cut and is also tasked with getting Matt's jeans...which were drying from that day's traipse through puddles.
Hailey and Matt are supposed to be getting their shoes on, but Matt runs in one direction and Hailey needs help wants me to do it for her with putting her puzzles together.
All of the sudden, I hear screaming from the kitchen:
"MOMMY!!!! I ALL WET! I ALL WET! I SOAKING WET!"
"What happened?" (really trying not to make a big deal out of it b/c Matt can be somewhat of a drama queen sometimes.
"I ALL WET!! WAAAHHHHHHH...EWWWWWW!!!! I FALL DOWN!!!"
"Okay, well, get up and come in here." (dur)
"I CAN'T!!!! I ALL WET!!"
"Fine...I'm coming."
At this point, I round the corner to see him in the same exact position he fell in...one arm is down in a puddle of Dog's drinking water and both feet are straight up in the air at an impossible angle to his torso.
Cue laughter.
I couldn't help it. What logical human being doesn't try to help himself?
Oh, right...logic is not triumphant in our kingdom.
"What happened? Did you fall down?"
"YEAH...AND I ALL WET...HELP!"
So, I stand him up and start to soothe him. The kid is out of control. Big fat baby tears are rolling down his face and he just can't believe that this happened to him...what a travesty, right?
"Okay, I'll get this cleaned up and we'll get you ready to go out to dinner."
"My foot wet..."
"Well, Hailey, maybe you shouldn't be standing in the water that just spilled all over the place."
"Oh." (smiles and runs off)
"I NO GO DINNER...SHIRT ALL WET! MY EXCABATOR SHIRT!!!!"
"You won't go to dinner because your excavator shirt is wet?"
"NO!!! YOU DRY IT!!!"
All of this is happening as I'm on my hands and knees cleaning up water from a bowl that is clearly past the point of being sanitary...yes, we're gross.
"You want me to dry your shirt." (please don't say yes, please don't say yes)
"Yeah...peease."
"You can't wear another one?"
"NO! MY EXCABATOR SHIRT!!! YOU DRY IT...peease."
"Okay, let's take it off." (wait...did I just say "okay?")
"You go downstairs?"
"No, it won't dry in time down there...I'll use my hair dryer." (WTF??? You will not! You are not about to sit in there and blow dry your son's shirt...no fucking way!)
"Okay...(sniffle)"
"Go to Daddy to get your jeans on and I'll be done in a minute."
No, I'm not seriously going to turn that hair dryer on...OMG...I am! You are so whipped! Whipped by a 2 and a half year old kid with a snotty nose.
Holy shit...I can't believe I'm doing this.
What is wrong with me?
I want to beat the crap out of myself.
Ouch...I just burned my damn leg.
Almost done and you can go back to being a normal human being rather than some 2-year old's punching bag.
I still can't believe I'm doing this.
"Matt, I'm all done."
Matt appears shirtless from around the corner...followed closely by his sister who now has her coat on. I love when Husband picks up the pieces.
"You done?"
"Yeah...come see. It's better."
He tentatively comes over to touch the shirt...making sure that I've put the blow dryer down. I may have definitely tortured them with it a time or two.
"What do you think?"
Who gives a shit? A grown woman just hand dried his shirt. He should be kissing your feet!
He's gingerly caressing the fabric of his Excabator Shirt.
"Ummm...just a widdle bit weft."
"Excuse me?"
"There just a widdle bit of wet weft...I be wight back and you finish dryer."
NO!!!! YOU DID NOT JUST TELL ME THAT I NEED TO FINISH THE JOB BECAUSE YOUR DAMN SHIRT IS STILL WET!! YOU DID NOT LEAVE ME SITTING ON A TOILET WITH A BLOW DRYER (THAT I'M KIND OF WISHING WAS A GUN AT THIS POINT) TO FINISH DRYING OFF YOUR SHIRT BY HAND BECAUSE THERE'S STILL A WIDDLE BIT WEFT!
Holy shit...you're turning the blow dryer back on.
What the hell is wrong with you? He's two! He'll never know the damn difference...STOP!
Yes, it's official...you are so freaking whipped.
"Matt, I'm finished."
Shirtless Matt appears around the corner again to inspect my handiwork.
"It's not going to be perfect...it was really wet from when you fell. Is it okay?"
"Yeah. I wear it to Parerra."
"Okay...let's get you dressed so we can leave."
Holy shit...I cannot believe I just did that.
So, 20 minutes later, we're about to sit down to dinner. I start to roll up the Crazies' sleeves because eating macaroni and cheese is a full-contact sport in our family. Matt looks up with his beautiful blue eyes and says, "my shirt still a widdle bit wet."
I wanted to knock the damn highchair over.
