One day X-Man will be potty trained. I just hope I'm alive to see it. I'll be able to brag to all my friends on bingo at the senior center. Until, I'll continue to live at the mercy of his whims, which seem to be tied to the most inconvenient moments possible. Today I was expect the dude to come and finish the job. He arrived and sat in the driveway, as per usual, finishing his morning cigarette. About that time I heard, "MOOOOOM! X-Man's POOOOOPY!" "Yeah and it stinks too!" Well happy Monday to me. The moment I unleashed X-Man's weapon of mass digestion, the door bell rang. Of course it did. Now, I could have run downstairs to open the door. But I know how that would have ended. Lots and lots of Clorox all over the bedroom. So, I dispatched Mac to tell Baba to please let the drywaller in.


I came downstairs to see Mac at the front window enunciating very loudly "I. DON'T. KNOW. YOU. I. CAN'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR." and Baba calmly unloading the dishwasher. The drywaller guy actually shook Mac's hand, once admittance was granted, and told him "good job." I was still trying to figure out how the whole "go downstairs and tell Baba to let the gentleman I am expecting in" translated to "yell out the window." Oh well.


Painting. It ain't like the movies. It's not fun, you don't look cute in overalls, there's no cute boy to playfully paint the tip of your nose. There are toddlers to help though. All sorts of help. And the father figure was bound and determined not to help. Overtime my gluteus maximus. He could smell the paint a mile away and kept his distance.

Time the nap, it's a tricky game. I knew I needed to go and get paint and supplies for my newly finished walls. However, I knew that I wanted to paint during nap time. I also knew that I wanted to get some work done on school and I wanted to spare myself some hassle. I could leave with breakfast dishes still on the table and the kids would start asking for lunch immediately. Plus, the sheet rock guy was still there. I could leave after he left, but Cinco was sleeping, fitfully, with a stuffy nose, so that sleeping baby was going to lie. I was hoping to time things right, just after lunch, and get back in time for naps. But never underestimate X-Man's ability to sleep wherever. And his determination to continue sleeping into the store. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to transfer his totally limp body into a shopping cart basket and watch him sprawl out and make himself at home.

So this meant no painting during nap time. But it did not mean no painting. I'm dying to finish off the house so I tackled the job. I only had to chase X-Man out a couple of times. He only stuck his hands in the paint once. His siblings sat slack jawed being entertained by minions, so successfully that they didn't notice that the ONE thing they were supposed to do, keep X-Man out of my way was not happening.

All in all, it was one of my more successful painting experiences. Never one to do a thing half way, I tend to paint when nesting. For the record, there is no nesting involved this time around. And I tend to paint during nap time. Back in the peaceful days of Baba and Baby and gestating Mac, I was painting my bedroom a bright cheery yellow. My bedroom was large and it was a multiple day project. The entry way to the master bedroom was next to the girls' bedroom door. Behind which, Baby was allegedly napping.

The phone rang, distracting me and causing me to leave the room. I left mid project, obviously, and was gone less than two minutes. Ya'll know how this is going. Sure enough, I returned to find an entire gallon of yellow paint, suddenly not so cheery, spilled on the beige carpet. And, to add insult to injury, a trail of little yellow footprints led out of my room, into the hall, which too had beige carpet, and into Baby's room. They stopped right at her bed and there was a little bundle under all of the blanket, desperately trying to sleep.  In case you were wondering, her bedroom carpet was beige too. But fortunately she had pulled all the books off her bookshelf, so several of them were covered in yellow as well. But not her carpet.

I was not amused and spent the rest of my afternoon, and extended nap time or sheltering in place as it were, scrubbing yellow paint out of the carpet. I managed to convince the father figure to not pour turpentine all over the carpet and all in all it was a very successful salvage operation. For some reason, I found the little yellow feet not sentimental at all. Unlike the little blue hand print that Baba left on her bedroom door, back when I was nesting with Baby. Probably because it was just one. Or I was still in the phase where everything a child of mine did was super adorable. Yeah, not there anymore.