Saturday, right after the maids left (and no, I don't have regular maids), the decision was made to redecorate the kitchen. I was not present for this decision, since I was in another room cleaning (yes, I was still cleaning after the maids left).
I suddenly heard lots of yelling, followed by screaming and the dog barking. What is going on, I wondered?
I walked into the kitchen to find Billy in the corner crying, Daddy in the kitchen fuming, Buddy under the table cowering. Well, that was at first glance. Then I noticed that my yellow kitchen with wood floors was now pink. But not just pink. It had been Jackson Pollocked.
Okay, okay, I'm an artist but maybe you don't get the reference. See here for Jackson Pollock.
And when I say Jackson Pollocked, I mean like I've never seen it before.
And what was all of the pink stuff? Oh, God! Say it isn't so1 Not Yogurt! Not the dreaded Yogurt! Strawberry yogurt EVERYWHERE. On the table. On the chairs. On the high chair. Under the table. Around the table. On the walls. On the pantry. In the microwave? (Yeah, that takes some talent). All over the dog. Up and down the trash can. On the floor from the table to the sink.
Pink yogurty splatters.
If you've never cleaned up yogurt from the floor then you don't know. This stuff is insidious. You wipe it up, then it dries and it's back again. So tasty. Such a mess . So hard to clean.
We made Billy stay in time out until the whole mess was cleaned up. I think it took about twenty minutes. To clean my newly cleaned the maids were just here kitchen. Then he had to apologize. Especially to Buddy, who didn't like being coated in yogurt.
Bring on Sunday.
There we are, the picture of domestic bliss. Billy eating his tikki masala in his chair and me washing dishes in the sink with my back to him, but happily singing (off-key) to him.
And then I turn around.
My kitchen has been Jackson Pollocked. Again. This time in Tikki Masala, which STAINS. It's bright orange. It stains orange.
There Billy is laughing, until he see my face.
Straight into time out. He stood in the corner crying "Sowwy Mommy" over and over. It's hard to stay mad when he's being that cute, but I made him time out until I cleaned up the kitchen. Again.
I'm not sure my kitchen can stand all of this redecorating.
Not only is he Jackson Pollock, but this weekend he officially became a Houdini as well. He escaped from a pack'n'play by landing on his head. Then I watched him escape from his crib, but I pushed him back in before he fell and really hurt himself. The days of the crib are finitely numbered. Until then, there is a pillow pile surrounding the crib, just in case he Houdinis again.
I'm not looking forward to free range toddler.