But MOOOOMM....why don't you want to hear my inside scream?

They say that you forget the pain of childbirth. There must be something to that, as women freely choose to repeat the process. It seems to me that the memory fail sets in at pregnancy. I have a vague recollection that I hate being pregnant and that's about all. So there must be something that kicks in, or turns off as it were, the moment motherhood begins.

That explains how it was that I forgot how utterly destructive a two year old can be when left unattended. Fortunately X-Man was left unattended in his own room. During what was supposed to be his nap time. As we moved to our new half house (I was going to say halfway house, as in halfway done, but that didn't seem too prudent, who knows what the NSA will pick up ) X-Man graduated from a pack and play to a big boy bed. It's not that he's big enough to stay in a big boy bed, it's that he spent a good two hours vaulting himself out of the pack and play while raging about attempts to be contained. So, the bottom bunk bed became X-Man's.

I knew that he liked to play during nap time. I don't really care. The important thing is that he is enjoying peace and quiet. Mac is not "hugging" him or otherwise harassing him. He is not sticking tools and toy in the fridge. Or pushing Cinco in her swing, and by pushing I mean stopping the swing and attempting to climb in with the explanation "Help baby, help baby." And I have three minutes to myself, without X-Man following me everywhere holding yogurts pilfered from the fridge and yelling at me to open them. Lest you think this is my free time, this is when I grade papers, including one paper about the Colonial time period that featured Cortez and the Aztecs. It's not exactly a calm time for me. But it is quiet though and I'll take what I can get.

Today, X-Man was less subtle than usual. Mostly because he found the various containers under the bed which held the carefully sorted cars, action figures, Lincoln logs etc. X-Man's game of choice was entropy, and master it he did. Before collapsing in the middle of his great success. My personal game of choice is insanity, repeating the same thing over and over hoping for different results (explains the five kids) so back to sorting all the toys, each in its individual container. Right before tucking X-Man in for the night. Which involved him trying to push me out the door saying "go, go momma!" I cringe thinking of what I, and the insulation installers, will walk into tomorrow morning. (Yes the insulation installers who were supposed to be here a week ago. Only their third trip to this house. That will be its own story one of these days)

I had doubted my decision yesterday to let X-Man sleep on the upper bunk at nap time yesterday. As I entered the war zone in which my sons recreate, I doubted my doubts. Halfway through clean up I decided that indeed X-Man would be contained within the four bars of the bunk bed, a situation he didn't find nearly as outrageous as the four walls of a pack 'n play. This was my resolution until X-Man, who had been contained on said upper bunk as I cleaned, let out a thrilled "ooooh".  I turned to see him, well at least half of him. His upper half had disappeared into the crawl space that was above the bed. Scratch that plan.

Chaos it is. Contained chaos. I won't even imagine what having a two year old loose in the attic would result in.