It's that time...

Saturday~ August 8, 2009

There's a possibility that my friend Susan thinks my house is some kind of catastrophe-inducing vortex. She and her two boys were over last night, both of our husbands were busy, so we decided to have a movie night together. Of course, four boys under 5 years of age don't actually just sit and watch a movie. But it was Friday and Susan and I were tired, so we had high hopes for an opportunity to sit at the table, eat, have some wine and talk. We were making the mistake of desperately hoping that our four small boys would sit quietly and watch a movie. You know, for two full hours or so.

But it wasn't to be. I know, shocking.

We tried, we really tried. We would start a conversation, standing in the kitchen and peeking in on the boys, wherever they had roamed, every few minutes. Pretty much every time we checked they were perfectly fine, playing nicely in the backyard or making up an imaginary game as they ran from room to room inside.

Funny how when you check, everything is fine, but when you get into a conversation, distracted for up to three minutes, something is always going on that shouldn't. Like the time I suddenly realized there was a soft thump repeating itself somewhere in the distance. I had just checked on the two older boys, but once I headed back inside, they took the opportunity to throw mud at the house. Three minutes of mud throwing = a lot of mud, just so you know. What a fun game. It wasn't until this morning that I realized that much of the mud had come through the screen and landed on the floor in our bedroom. Miles and I had a little talk about mud and houses. It ended with, "Why, Mommy?"

Sigh.

Or there was that other time that we left the two small guys, ages one and two, in the "hideout," which is the large and deep space in the bottom of the bathroom closet. They were happily playing on piles of blankets with books and stuffed animals one moment, and then the next moment we heard maniacal laughing, so we abruptly stopped our conversation and came to find the two of them splashing like crazy in the toilet. With wads and wads and wads of toilet paper and a toilet cleaning brush. What fun. Water, urine, water everywhere.

Now before you go thinking we're totally neglectful, I must remind you that these are FOUR energetic BOYS. They were over-tired and totally losing their little minds. Which is why our little party came to an abrupt end when Susan's poor five-year-old climbed in the bottom shelf of my closet and had the whole thing fall over on himself. Ouch.

Yes, it was that time. Maybe you know the one. The time that hits most play dates like a ball to a bat. It's like the clock is chiming midnight and everyone involved has promptly turned into a pumpkin. That time. The time that forces you to end all playing and conversating no matter how unfinished, to rush for the door. The Guest Mom usually has at least one crying and clawing small person dangling from her shirt, shouting, "I don't want to goooooo!!!" And The Host Mom, eyes glassed over and apologetic, follows The Guest Mom around, softly repeating, "Can I help you with anything?" Yes, it's that time that causes The Guest Mom to throw only the belongings within three feet into her diaper bag while apologizing for the tears and tantrums, and then The Host Mom says "No worries, no worries..." Yes, it is the inevitable hitting of that wall, at that time.

Or maybe that's just us.

In this particular case, The Guest Mom, my lovely friend Susan, even left with absolutely no shoes on anyone, including herself. It's OK, lady. That's what happens when it's that time.


P.S. When I returned the shoes this morning, since we live only blocks away, Susan came to the door and said that their basement flooded last night. So after leaving the chaos-inducing vortex that is my house, the rain poured down and into their home. DANG. Susan just started her own blog, and she's loving it. Maybe you could go welcome her to blog world and brighten her soggy day? It's dry here.