Jack and Will were playing in the den when Jack yelled to me that he needed to pee. And as he usually does in the mornings, he said he was going outside to pee. I walked into the kitchen to fix oatmeal for Will, heard the door ding and then the door ding again and slam shut. Jack ran into the kitchen joined me at the sink.
"Mama! I had to pee really, really bad. And I was going outside and I was getting ready and I had to pee so bad, Mama, all my pee just fell out."
"Fell out where? On the porch? On the carpet?"
"No, Mama. It fell out all over Will."
Surely that was an accident.
Sam woke up a little later and ran up to me, with his eyes wide and a very serious face. And with great emphasis and full hand motions he said, "Mama! You are not going to believe this. Mama, this is real life. This happened in real life! Real life, Mama."
"What? What happened, son?
"I just woke up, Mama, and look (pointing to his pajama bottoms) my pajamas are wet."
"That's okay, bud. You wet the bed a little? It's okay."
"No, Mama! My bed is not wet. And I am just wet right here (again pointing to his pants)! Know what that means, Mama?"
"No, what?"
"This is real life, Mama. Not a dream. Real life! Somebody came in my room and peed on my pajamas."
I hate when that happens.
And later as I'm trying to get us all out the door, Sam disappears. I call him, look in his room, nothing. I didn't worry. He's my responsible one so I knew he was nearby, hiding from us. I looked and looked. In every room. I looked behind every chair in the den, behind the couch, behind Jody's bar. Nothing. I payed no attention to the laundry hamper laying on the couch.
And I told him that it said "Angela" written a few days ago by my middle child so "everyone would know it's mine" and that therefore, it was clearly my hamper and not "his house." He questioned his brother's handwriting and then climbed out of the hamper and we were on our way.
Just a typical morning around here.
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