One of the major problems I have staying home with three kids is that while I’m nursing the baby the other two are doing stuff. Some days they are doing nice stuff and some days are like today. Today I came into the kitchen and found that Clara discovered not only how to change the kitchen faucet from a stream to a spray but that you can also pull out the head of the faucet. I pull out the head of the faucet to wash large pans and clean the sink. Clara pulled it out, must have thought it was actually intended to be the worlds best water gun and got right to work spraying Ivy.

We’ve got good water pressure, Ivy got wet on the far side of the kitchen table.

This is sort of impressive if you don’t think about the fact that most of the water is landing on the floor, the counter, the paper, the microwave, the radio, the cell phone, the eggs, the vitamins on the shelves, the ceiling, the windows, the blinds, the leftover food waiting to go back into the fridge, the tin full of change, the chairs, the table, under the sink, under the fridge and in the cupboard.

But I’m the Mom, so I thought about all those things and was, shall we say, less impressed with Clara’s feat than Clara was, much less.

As Clara was doing her best to be a poster child for the terrible two’s and unapologetically running through the puddles instead of helping clean up Ivy chimed with, “It’s raining in here Mom.”  I looked up, saw all the water on the ceiling dripping down, took a deep breath, squashed my urge to strangle the kids, decided that while making them clean up their own mess was a good lesson it really wouldn’t do them any good if they were dead and sent them out of the room before I changed my mind.

Shortly afterwards while I was still fuming and sopping up water Clara danced through the kitchen with her underwear on her head on her way to brush her teeth. I took a picture.  As I continued cleaning I fantasized that in about ten years I could blow it up really large and hang it on my kitchen wall. Then Clara would be embarrassed and ask me to take it off the wall and I would laugh manically and say “NO! You were a rotten two year old who flooded the kitchen, the picture stays!” Unfortunately after looking at the picture I took I’m afraid I’ll hang it on my wall and everyone will tell her how cute she was even with underwear on her head. So much for that fantasy.  Next time I’ll work on something involving beaches. You know, if I closed my eyes and concentrated I’m pretty sure I could turn that big puddle on a gritty floor into the oceans edge on a sandy beach…. now where’s my drink with the umbrella in it?