So there I was, sleeping minding my own business whilst the boys were napping yesterday, blissfully comfortable in myveryown bed under all of myveryown blankets, face down in the mattress. I love to nap. I have loved napping since I discovered napping at the ripe old age of fourteen minutes. I aspire to nap daily. I think about naps. I often am resigned to living vicariously through my childrens' naps, which is a beautiful time of day. Especially if I happen to be napping, too.
Aaaaaahhhhhh, the nap.
Back to minding my own business. I was jarred out of my blissful business-minding by some Wee Man Whining. It has it's own distinct timbre which causes the actual words being uttered during whining to become completely garbled. Very easy to identify. Not so much easy to block out.
I pulled the covers up over my head even farther than before. The whining escalated. Faster than a Ferrari goes from zero to sixty, Wee Man hit Total Flip Out.
It was at that moment I realized the location of the child. He was Totally Flipping Out in the bathroom. And that, people, is NOT GOOD.
So I put on my Grown Up Pants, peeled back the layers of comfort and joy, and plodded to the bathroom. I plodded on purpose. Because Wee Man had started this whole bit by whining, and I was fairly confident that he was not, say, drinking the toilet bowl cleaner. I imagine that one does not exactly whine whilst drinking the toilet bowl cleaner, so naturally he was not in grave danger. Hence the plodding.
I plodded into the bathroom and found Wee Man standing on the Able To Reach The Toilet Stool. With the potty seat around his neck.
That's what I said.
The potty seat was around his neck.
Ours is the fancy Walmart style with the light blue base, complete with handles for those times when things aren't so easy. And a very bland white vinyl padded ring for tiny heinys. When you purchase the potty seat, the blue part and the white part are attached.
The blue part was resting comfortably on Wee Man's shoulders. The white part was wrapped around his face.
And do you know what my first thought was? It was not, How did he actually DO that? It was not, How am I going to get that off him? It wasn't even, Gosh, I hope he's alright.
It was, Camera! Camera! Must. Get. Camera.
My second thought was, I would be such a bad mother if I left him standing there screaming to go get my camera.
Then I paused for a half a moment to try to remember where my camera actually was. It was down a flight of stairs, across the living room, through the play room, out the front door, onto the porch, out the porch door, down the sidewalk, across the driveway, locked in the car, back up the sidewalk, in the porch door, onto the porch, in the front door, grabbed the keys, out the front door, onto the porch, out the porch door, back down the sidewalk, across the driveway, unlock the car, grab the camera off the front seat, close car door, across the driveway, up the sidewalk, in the porch door, onto the porch, in the front door, through the play room, across the living room, back up the flight of stairs, into the bathroom.
Reluctantly I yanked the seat off his head without a visual preservation of the moment.
Buddy, why was the potty seat on your head?
I was twying to fix it.