The outlook for my morning was productive with a 10% chance of chaos. E was playing — with permission — in the spare bathroom, and I was getting dressed when I heard it. The crash of glass breaking. E had moved out of the spare bath to the shelf in the kitchen that serves as a pantry of sorts. And he knocked over a bottle of cinnamon Torani syrup, and it broke on our concrete floor. The forecast just changed to 100% chance of hot, sticky, and sweet.
I found the alleged criminal sitting in a pool of sticky, hands held out for the broken glass bottle. Awesome. I grabbed up a roll of paper towels and quickly spread out enough paper towels to prevent the spread of the syrup. Our floors are not level, and syrup was quickly headed across the entry. Confident that at least the syrup had stopped moving, I picked up E and held him at arms’ length. He was dripping with syrup. What to do with him?
Well, he was not going to his crib. And he was not going to the pack ‘n’ play. Didn’t want to clean syrup out of either of those. Bathtub seemed logical, but I really needed to clean up the syrup as quickly as possible. To the bathtub we went. I sat him down gave him some toys and left him — sans water — in the tub.
A roll of paper towels, two buckets of mop water, and a vacuuming session later, the syrup is cleaned up, but E is losing his patience with the waterless tub. I wouldn’t let him leave until he had a real bath. So I turn on the water — while he’s still sporting rocket ship PJs and a diaper — and disrobe him in the tub. I’m quite sure he thought he was gypped in the bath department: no shampoo or rubber ducks, just a quick de-sticking with lots of soap.
Shortly after his bath, E is quarantined in the living room with ottomans blocking all exits, and soon after that, he is down for a nap. Which allows me to vacuum and mop the entire loft. Not exactly what I was planning today, but it needed to be done. Thanks, E.
You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance. — Franklin P. Jones