Hey, What Can I Say?

I was all proud of myself for creating the best summer camp ever for our 2-year-old twins, Dakota and Montana, on the deck off my home office where I could watch them with joy and also get a few things done (I am wicked paranoid about kids and water and truly watch them every second. I’ve heard the stories, and so have you).

I filled our baby pool with warm sudsy water and tubbie toys, had the hose dribbling for them to play with, set out arts and crafts on a cute little table, gave them plastic cars to play with and ride in (the big ones that I got at yard sales for a buck), moved the slide next to the baby pool and brought out tons of snacks, juice and rice milk.

Best ever!

I texted my BFF a photo of the boys playing merrily in the pool and asked her if she remembered this with our (now 5-year-old) boys who are also BFFs. She texted right back that yes, it seemed like only a few days, so I should cherish it.

As I texted back that I was cherishing every moment, I didn’t notice that Dakota had slipped out of the ‘perfect’ Camp Taylor and was now standing in front of me at my desk with of my favorite polka dot wash cloths (that I use to wash and dry my face), which was soaking wet with”¦.(?).

He was saying, “Mamma, no, Mamma, no”¦” and led me by his chubby little hand to the toilet in our bathroom, where all of the polka dot washcloths were stuffed, clogging the toilet, which was now overflowing (he’d flushed it, probably many times).