He didn’t need to bend over. The cheeks were showing as he passed into the dining room. “Little Guy, where are your underwear?” Shy smile. “Go get some on.”
Five minutes later: “Little Guy, go get your underwear on.”
Five minutes later, he comes down with socks in his hand. “I asked you to get underwear on.”
Walking into daycare, the pants yield enough view as he climbs the stairs. “Little Guy!!! I told you 10 times to get underwear on! Ahhhh! Hope there’s some in your cubby.”
Hmm….just a shirt….bummer.
“Oh, I put them in the car, Mom.” Of course, why not just carry them to the car?
Back upstairs and get them from the car. Enter the bathroom to have him change: “Little Guy! Where are your socks?!?!”
Pretty sure I need to institute some kind of 5-point inspection before we leave the house in the morning! Drill Sargent style. Teeth. Underwear. Socks. Shoes on the right feet. Backpacks. Sure the boys are going to love it.
Little Guy really is my easy-going (other than the whining), never have to entertain him, and usually can’t find him kind of guy. But this week has been a doozy for him.
Toilet in the boys bathroom is not even two weeks old and it overflowed the other day. Man, I said to myself – what in the world is wrong with this thing! Boys, what is wrong with the toilet?
“Um, I think there’s a car in there,” Little Guy responds helpfully.
I don’t even want to call the maintenance men tomorrow morning. Thought I’d give them the weekend off and just have the boys run downstairs for toileting (because you know full well that my master bathroom toilet seat shall not be “adorned” by them!). But really, what am I going to say? Hi, guys, mind taking up that new toilet you just put in and dig out the Matchbox car?
And to top it off, this morning I bolted out of bed when my savvy nose indicated some kind of burning occurring. Rushing into the kitchen, I find Little Guy with red oven mitts on his hands and the microwave door open – charred bits of a tortilla shell scattered on the tray. “There sure was lots of smoke coming out the top of that thing,” Little Guy says all wide-eyed, knowing pretty well that the Mama creature does not look at all pleased with his attempt to fend for himself for breakfast. What’s wrong with the cream cheese on bagel you usually get for yourself? Or the yogurt you leave half-eaten at the dining room table? What in the world made you want to “cook” this morning for your first time ever?!? So much for trying to laze in bed for a minute on a Sunday morning!
A friend texted the other night, “Is your puppy as bad as she is cute? Because I feel like that adorable face would get her out of a lot of trouble. Kind of like The Little Guy.”
“Nailed it,” I replied.
My good little boy is vying with the elder siblings for “who can cost the most” award and it’s a good thing he has a sweet elfish smile and an adorable face!
You can’t make this stuff up!