I dreamed the other night about my teenage son, Ryan. In my dream he was once again a chubby two year old, so cute and cuddly. When I awoke in the morning I was a little sad. I sometimes miss having very young children, and for a while wished I could change my tall skinny boy back into my rosy cheeked baby, just for an hour or two.
Then, I remembered THAT DAY.
That morning started off as most others. I made breakfast for my little family, saw my husband off to work and bathed my two and four year old sons. After their bath I brought them down to the main floor and left them with some toys while I cleaned up from breakfast. The living room was at the front of our longish narrow townhouse, the kitchen at the back. On one side of the short walkway between the two were the stairs going up to the bedrooms and down to the basement, and on the other side was a half bath.
While I was still in the kitchen interesting noises began emanating from the small bathroom. Going to investigate I found Ryan standing next to the toilet, his hair and shirt wet and water forming a puddle at his feet.
"Ryan? What are you doing Sweetie?"
He answered by dunking his head into the toilet before I could stop him. When he came back up he was smiling, causing the dimples to show in his cheeks. "Ooooh, told mommy, told!" I caught him before he could dunk his head again and experience the 'told' water.
He was just so cute! I dried him up with the hand towel hanging beside the sink, then held onto him while I used the same towel to mop up the puddle, threw the towel down the stairs to be picked up when I did the laundry, then carried my little angel upstairs for his second bath of the day.
After he was clean, dry and dressed, again, I took him back to play with his older brother, who was still happily busy with his toys in the living room. I gathered all the dirty laundry and started down into the basement, which had only two finished rooms: the laundry and an office.
I carried the basket of dirty clothes balanced against my hip, and grasped the railing with my other hand. Something greasy ran down the length of it. Confused, I used a towel in my basket to wipe it off, deciding to go back over it later with a hot cloth, and continued down the stairs. After starting a load, I was heading back upstairs to check on my boys when I heard something in the office. Opening the door I found Ryan happily banging away at the computer keys.
"Ryan, how'd you get in here? C'mon sweet boy, let's go back upstairs." As I picked him up I noticed something glistening on the keyboard. "What's this?" I asked, swiping a finger across the substance.
"My butter!" He announced proudly, showing me his hands, both of which he'd used to scoop up the butter I'd had softening on a plate in my kitchen. I cleaned him up, and the computer, and the railing, and the kitchen counter.
It was time for a break, so we read some stories before lunch. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chocolate milk followed. I no longer remember what pulled me from the kitchen before everything had been put away. What I do remember is returning to find that Ryan had pushed a chair up to the counter, climbed on top of it, and was laughing. Apparently he really enjoyed the sensation caused by plunging his little hand and arm down into the new jar of strawberry jam I'd opened for lunch.
Another bath followed. To top it all off, I never could get that little stinker to take a nap. It's a wonder I'm not crazy. Or maybe I am. We did have two more kids after Ryan.
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