Now when I'm at home with the boys, I get stuff done. I work at my day job (writing). I keep the kids fed, the house (relatively) picked up, the dishes cycling in and out of the dishwasher, the toilets scrubbed, the cats and dogs cared for. I keep up with the laundry. Okay, so maybe not folding, but at least it's washed.*
*Sometimes more than once if I forget to put it in the dryer before it starts to smell funky.
I can normally get a lot done, even with the boys, even in an hour and a half. So it is completely beyond my comprehension why, every Tuesday and Thursday night, almost without fail ... the house is a disaster when I get home.
Last night was no exception. I walked through the door to find Curtis sitting on the couch, playing an intense game of "Cut the Rope" on my tablet. There were a pair of pants on the stove. Every comforter from every bed in the house was heaped onto the living room floor. There was cut-up paper everywhere. The kitchen chairs were lined up in a row. The kids were filthy. I'm not saying the house was pristine when I left, but this was kind of ridiculous. The baby came crawling down the hallway missing a sock, his hair sticky.
"Seriously?" I asked Curtis, gesturing at the disaster zone he was apparently oblivious to.
He shrugged. "Colin got his homework done," he said helpfully.
WTF.
As if on cue, Colin came up to me scratching at his leg. "What's this sticky stuff on me?" he asked. I squinted at it; whatever it was, it was faintly pink in color. So I ran my finger along it. It was indeed sticky. And also slightly grainy. And it smelled ... weirdly medicinal, with a hint of cherry. Cough syrup?
"I know what it is!" Colin piped up. "Orajel!"
If you've ever had a teething baby, you've probably heard of Orajel. It's this gel that you put on the baby's gums and it numbs them to dull the teething pain. And right now, with Corbin cutting three teeth at once, it's like liquid gold around here.
*Side note: boys are gross.
"And why is there Orajel all over your leg?" I sighed.
"I don't know, but it's on my comforter too."
Indeed, it was on his comforter. And on my pillow. And on the carpet in a couple of spots. And smeared into a clean diaper which was laying on my bedroom floor. It seems like whoever had the Orajel had squirted it all over the house. Yet I was having trouble getting a straight story about who exactly was the culprit.
Then Coby walked by me ...
... bow-legged.
I stopped him in his tracks. "Uh, Coby?" I asked.
"Yes Mommy?" he replied, looking up at me with his big eyes. (Did I mention he was naked?)
"Why are you walking funny?"
"Oh, it was just because my butt was hurting," he said casually. "But I put medicine on it to make it feel better."
Medicine?
"Bend over, please," I said. Obligingly, he did so, only to reveal ...
... Orajel.
Or as I should rename it, Orifice-jel. Because y'all? That's precisely where it was smeared. Under the not-so-watchful eye of his father, my boy had given himself a butthole full of teething medicine.
I still can't find the tube. I'm not sure I want to know where it is.
And if I do find it, I'm pretty sure I won't want to touch it.
