It's 9:24pm...and they are finally asleep. I am relaxing on my couch, laptop in hand, comfortably cocooned in a soft blanket and listening to the peaceful sounds of: no screaming, crying, whining, and no one singing the Imperial March at the top of his lungs to torment his sisters.
We've survived another day with The Boy. (I've been on the lookout for a pseudonym that would help express our utter and never-ending bewilderment with our son and "The boy" seemed so much more appropriate than some of the other names I've been tempted to call him...)
But I digress.
One of the most recent acts of destruction wrought by The Boy was discovered at approximately 7:48pm last night. A flooding toilet, totally unresponsive to my mad plunging skills, quickly led to a brief interrogation of our mischievous 2 year-old. It was soon revealed that the cause of the blockage was most likely a ball flushed down the toilet because he didn't like it. (Seriously?)
Rather than discuss the awful process of trying to get a little ball out of a very small and horribly disgusting place, let me simply tell you that, with the help of a nice Home Depot employee (who also put up with my overly-tired and pajama-clad children at 8pm) and with the fortunate return of my husband early this morning, we were able to dismantle the toilet and retrieve the offensive ball.
And, if that wasn't enough for one day, The Boy also made sure we were paying him the appropriate amount of attention by dumping an entire bottle of basil on the carpet, running away with (and using) my (expensive) camera, spraying the house with CLR, spreading carpet cleaner on the floor (in an attempt to offset the rest?), AND...heading out on a journey and ending up 2 blocks from home on a busy street talking to some guy in a truck (thanks for finding/returning him, Kristin). It's been a long day.
Then, at approximately 7:48pm this evening I found him trying to flush the shower curtain down the toilet.
Here we go again.
