It goes like this.
Today, I got up around 5am. Well, Sam got up. I was feeding a baby and shhhhh-ing a toddler back to sleep while Sam did some sort of ceremonial hoe down whilst putting on his policeman gear. Seriously.
At 6am I crept out of bed and I tiptoed around to prep for my 7am piano students. Then, I taught piano for an hour. After that I ambushed my kids with chores and school. That was fun and a surprise to me. You see, I've been ambushing them around 6:45-7:15am for the past week and every day it is just a huge shock and affront to their sensibilities. How dare I wake them and expect them to cleanse their bodies and pick up the junk on the floor and then LEARN! Ridiculous! They have ranted and raved every single day and I am just so pleased that I can get even for the past decade of THEM waking me up at dark o'clock to ask where the remote is or if they can have a cookie that I ignore the griping gladly and keep them on task.
So, we got a ton done. All the school for all 3 kids was complete by 11am and that included a 20 minute breakfast break at 9am. We had also finished showers for kids and cleaned up bedrooms. Happy mom. Happy, happy happy (yes, we love Duck Dynasty around here).
Since all the work was done, it was time for rewards for all! I put Henry down for a nap, asked the big kids to do some educational internet while they watched Oz and I went downstairs for a nice 50 minute run on the treadmill.
The treadmill has been wonderful lately, Some days I don't feel good about leaving so I run here. I don't love how inaccurate it is (I have been researching like crazy and I've done a few experiments now and that treadmill just isn't tracking distance correctly) but I have discovered my way of tracking distance with average time per mile. I have been using my slow average and running that long to get my miles. Today I wanted 4.5 miles so I ran for 50 minutes. Perfect.
So, I was running. Watching season two of Grimm on my Precious. Enjoying my adorable new shoes (I'll tell you all about them later).
Then Isabelle comes downstairs.
She looks deeply concerned but trying to be casual about it.
She says, "So, when are you going to be done running?"
I'm thinking, great, what do they need? I ask, "What do you need?"
She quickly says, "nothing, keep running. We just want to know how much time we have."
Ah. Now my mama Spidey sense is tingling. Something has happened and the kids need to fix it. I'm trying to decide how bad it is and I see tears welling in her eyes. This can only mean one thing: They have some enormous disaster going on upstairs.
I say, "how bad is it and do I need to come up?"
She says, "it is bad. Ozzy got in to the paint."
I think all the swear words at once.
All of them.
I hate paint. It is my mortal enemy. Stupid people decided kids need art classes. Guess what? They don't. Give them some dirt and a stick outside and call it good. Paint always finds a way to get all over things I like. I've hidden the paint a billion times and the children find them and use them and I am cleaning up after it for weeks. Argh.
I repeat, "how bad?"
She hesitates. The she carefully says, "Well, he got it down and smeared it on that plastic mat you put the computer chair on."
I'm thinking, oh hey, that is no big. I start to relax.
Then she finishes.
"Then he stepped in it and walked all over the carpet in the bedrooms and halls upstairs."
This is it. The moment that tells you if you are a good mother or a great mother.
A good mother will take this moment, toss a few Hail Marys and count to ten before she walks in. Then she will probably cry and yell a little as she cleans the carnage.
A great mother will take this moment, look at the clock on her treadmill, quietly say, "I'll be up in 30 minutes," then run while she counts all the numbers BECAUSE 10 IS NOT ENOUGH and allows the kids to sweat things and scramble to clean up as much as they can before she is done.
I'm not a good mother.
I'm not even a great mother.
I'm an awesomesauce mother because I chose plan B AND I smiled while I did it.
Oh, I was mad. So mad. But, guess what? It is just paint. My kids screwed up. They knew it and they were scared of how mad I would be. But, they were also honest about it and instead of being dumb and trying to hide what happened, they told me and were cleaning up. I can live with that. I ran and ran and ran. I watched the rest of my episode of "Grimm" and then some "Duck Dynasty". I reminded myself that I love my kids more than carpet. I thought of all the dumb things I did when I was a kid. I reminded myself that they were doing the cleaning so I needed to give them credit for that. Then I finished my 50 minutes (great run) and I cleaned up and went upstairs to inspect the damage.
Well, it could have been worse.
I was expecting much worse.
This is the towel they used to clean a lot of it up. I think it took the biggest hit.
Honestly, it could have been a lot worse.
I'm not thrilled and we did spend another hour cleaning up there and the kids are cleaning more right now. This is a good thing. They need to clean up their mess. But, they did their best, I didn't yell and we all lived. Best case scenario.
However, I need to just throw away the frickin' paint because no one can be trusted with it.
Oz is two and an evil genius and I know that. I can't flip out over paint. It is just stuff. My kids learned an important lesson or two.
1. Don't ever lose track of Oz.
2. Pain is a nightmare to clean.
and I hope this one too...
3. When it really counts and they do something extremely stupid, mom will still love them and not completely freak out.
Oh, and of course this too...
4. Give mom bad news while she is on the treadmill. All the anger goes into the miles and everyone lives.