I've been in a funk the past few days. Trouble sleeping, so I'm extra grumpy in the mornings.
Dear Butcher and I are in the kitchen. I'm scraping layers of gunk off a cutting board which should have been cleaned over a day ago, and silently berating myself for being such a terrible person to have left not only this cutting board, but the entire kitchen as a disaster area. Dear Butcher is trying to strike up a conversation, but he's annoyed at the state of the kitchen, so he's having trouble finding a neutral topic. The eldest daughter is hiding in her room, and the younger two kids are tumbling around on our bed.
Since the bed is almost directly above our heads, we can hear the thumps every time one of them launches onto the ground or onto one of the chairs. (The launching is entirely planned; they're not falling off the bed.) Soon Dear Butcher is halfway inside the refrigerator, trying to track down the source of the sticky orange substance on the lower shelf. I've got my back turned to him at the sink.
Suddenly the two youngest children appear in the kitchen. Son has a translucent purple plastic object in his hand and asks, "Hey Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom! What's this for?"
At almost the same moment I hear the youngest child, although because she's so short, I cannot yet see her from my position at the sink, mutter, "I got it! If you turn this, it makes your hand wiggle."
The two comments click together and I start laughing uncontrollably. Son says, "Mom! Mom! What's funny? Hey Mom? Mom? HEY!"
"Go ask your father."
"Dad! Dad! Hey, Dad!" His little sister has now joined him by their father's hip. They alternate poking him and shaking his shirt to get his attention. Dear Butcher has discovered a leaking Chinese Food Container and will not be distracted from his course.
Relentless, I say, "Dad! Hey, Dad? They have a question for you."
"Oh come ON!" cries Dear Butcher as he unfolds himself from the depths of the refrigerator. "Can't you just...?" And then he takes in the sight of his darling youngest children lined up before him. One naked, the other wearing only underpants, each holding up a cylindrical plastic object of fascination. The Kindergartner's entire arm is shaking due to her tight grip on the vibrating discovery. I'm laughing so hard that I'm silently crying. "Aii!" screams Dear Butcher. "Give me those!" A sprint up the staircase begins.
"But Dad! Hey Dad! Dad! What are they for?" cries out the son as he trots after his father. Dear Butcher kept them out of the room, and we were treated to the sounds of much opening and closing of dresser drawers before a giggling Dear Butcher returned to the kitchen.
We told the kids to Go Watch A Movie while we almost fell over laughing.
But the kitchen's still a disaster.