Stir Crazy

There are many things to be said about spending four days with four boys under 8, almost all of them good. Granted, we’re all a little stir-crazy – temperatures have been in the -30 range until today when their parents come home. That’s Murphy’s Law. It’s also fortunate for a couple of the little guys who may have found themselves deposited in a snow drift, had I not had to worry about them freezing to death before they could get out.

Sometimes I shoot myself in the foot when it comes to making things work. For example, I’m sure the mom is expecting a big bag of laundry to do when she gets home. So, good grandma that I am, I do the laundry. Everything, that is, except 21 month’s blankie. It’s dragged around and chewed on and could use a twirl in the tub, but that means unattaching the boy. He’s a very serious little boy. One tug on the blanket and I get a look that warns, let’s not go there. Not a problem, sunshine. It’s all yours. While oldest boy, who is, because he is 7, the most helpful most of the time, is at Tai Kwon Do with his grandpa, the almost 2 year old, the 3 ½ year old and the 5 ½ year old can surely tell me which of the newly clean clothes belong to who so I can pack them in their respective suitcases. You can see there’s a flaw in this reasoning, right?

Me: “Who’s underwear is this?”

5 ½: “Ewwwww.”

3 ½ “Ewwwww.”

21 mo: “Ewwwwww.”

I try again. I hold up a pair of jeans, very small jeans. I ask 5 ½, “Who do these belong to?”

He says, “They used to be mine. They’re probably 7’s.”

3 ½ says, “They used to be mine too. Yeah, they’re 7s.”

It seems we’re going in the wrong direction here so I throw up my hands, toss them into 21 month’s suitcase and guess at the rest. At least the stuff is clean.

Speaking of clean, I also found it is very difficult to shower while the aforementioned boys are up and about. I am desperate, it’s lunchtime, and my better half is sitting at the table with the boys so I figure now is the time. I shower quickly, hoping to finish before lunch is over. When I am done, I push the button on the shower cleaning thingy – 15 seconds to exit before the spray starts. I open the shower door and there, standing on the bath mat, are 5 ½ (holding a Lego creation – when did he have time to do that?) and 21 months. I say “Go away. Shoo. Go to the living room,” and back into the shower. This little exchange takes exactly 15 seconds. Very cold bleachy stuff hits me in the back and I bolt out of the shower, step twice on pieces of Lego as two little boys scuttle down the hall and out of sight.

I did manage to cool down by the time I got rinsed, dried off and dressed. I do wonder what the better half was doing while this was going on. But that’s another blog.