On Tuesday, Abby awoke at 2 a.m. complaining of an earache. Antibiotics were prescribed. First dose was poured, neatly measured - 1 teaspoon. The phone rang. While I answered it, she poured that teaspoon right down the bathroom drain.
On Wednesday, she wanted to sleep in my bed. I said no. She went to her room and put on her nightgown, came back into the kitchen and said: "I can't sleep in my bed. It's wet." I investigated and discovered a nice soppy puddle in the middle of the bed. And an empty toothpaste rinse cup on the bedside table. "Did you pour water on your bed Abigail?" You've probably seen that guilty look before. The one that functions as a wordless "yes".
On Friday, while I was in the den reading (what was I thinking!) Abby very quietly got out the flour, some water, a few cubes of ice and made really cold glue. There was glue and flour and water and little bits of ice. Everywhere.
Of course it would be the every other Friday that the cleaning lady comes... freshly mopped floor and vacuumed rug. I think there might be a rule about kitchen disasters only happening just after it has been cleaned?
1 year ago