I needed a baby sitter last night. Unfortunately for my sister, she was available and I could drop the kids off at her place on my way to where I needed to go. One hour and a half passed from the time I left her apartment until the time I got back. In that short amount of time my dear sister’s face had gone from the normal I’ve-had-a-stressful-day-at-work look to the worn and lined face of a veteran mother.
I was afraid to ask if the children had behaved. The terrible two’s are upon us in full force and my son can hardly stay out of trouble for more than two or three minutes at a time; his little sister, climber-extraordinaire, is a spider monkey that picks up and tastes anything in her path. It would seem that neither of the kids had given their auntie an easy time of it.
My son thought that it would be foolish to waste an opportunity to practice his stunts, and he stood on an empty box that proceeded to collapse under his weight and pitch him face-first over the arm of the couch and into the small corner shelf. He is now sporting a bruisy looking cut on the left side of his face. He opened and closed doors, riffled through the fridge and did somersaults on the furniture.
His little sister occupied her time by nibbling on crayons and drinking out of her brother’s cup in an attempt to catch his cold. That was a successful venture, as her nose is now completely stopped up with boogers.
My sister’s weary expression got me wondering: if she looks like that after a short time, what must my husband see in my face when he gets home from work after a long day? I’m beginning to understand why he sometimes takes a hesitant glance at me upon arriving home and then begin to edge his way toward the door with the look of a frightened animal on his face. It’s possible that the lack of makeup and my wild hair are responsible for this effect on his countenance, but I’m betting it’s the crazed look in my eye that sends him scuttling for the way out.
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3 years ago