I miss work

So. Grey is EXHAUSTED. Falling asleep in the car. Pitching fits over, well, everything. He had to be physically carried out of my husband’s office. (Today’s adventure was “Let’s go see where daddy works!”) SO TIRED. We come home. I feed him lunch (which he promptly feeds to his glass of milk). He pitches a fit about going to bed. I strong arm him into his diaper and into his bed.

Half an hour later I change his poopy diaper. He totally knows when he has to poop and lies about it. Then glibly repeats what he should have done. Oh well, at least it’s in the diaper.

I go back down about an hour ago to tell him to GO TO SLEEP ALREADY.

Quiet ensues. I’m on the third floor. He’s on the second. I no longer use a baby monitor for his room, so I measure sleepiness by thumps and times he comes to find me.

Due to an unusual pattern of noise, I get suspicious.

I go down.

He is now wearing underwear. (Where the hell is his diaper?) He is carrying a bottle of Purell that had been on his (theoretically unreachable) top of his dresser — in the middle. It has been filled with water and emptied — I see a patch in his room.

He is put back to bed in BIG TROUBLE.

Then I go downstairs, following a trail of droplets. There is a fine spray of water EVERYWHERE, as if he sanitized every one of his forbidden steps, leading to a large cache of illegally obtained dice.

I go back upstairs and give him the what-for, including an open-ended ban on all dice, including his private stash. I think this ban will be lifted when he is capable of reading the entire Dungeon Master’s Manual by himself and calculating an appropriate challenge rating for a band of four fifth-level characters.

Then I find out he has poured this brew over the antique teak chest his great grandfather smuggled back in a submarine in WWII, carrying his great grandmother’s wedding silks in it.

I cry.

I contemplate what I can possible do to communicate the enormity of his crime.

I install the baby monitor in his room. His little brother is a piece of cake by comparison.

I wonder if I can ground him until kindergarten.

(UPDATE: Fortunately for him, the chest appears to be ok. Maybe I’ll only ground him for 2009.)


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Brenda currently lives in Stoneham MA, but grew up in Mineral WA. She is surrounded by men, with two sons, one husband and two boy cats. She plays trumpet at church, cans farmshare produce and works in software.

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