What I love more than anything when I'm lifting up something very heavy is to hear a giant crash, followed very quickly by a giant splash and completing the triumvert with a giant toddler scream. Nothing happens in this house without it sounding like bombs going off. You people that don't have screaming kids or natural disasters that come out of no where, what's it like? Are you able to actually keep your TV volume below decibel level zillion to hear it? When you sit down does anything try to sit on your head while asking who your friend was from 20 years ago that they just saw on Facebook. When you talk to your significant other, does anyone ask why you have to pay bills, how much is the bill, what's money, how much money do you have and can I have a new bike? What's that like? Honestly, I just want to watch The Three Amigo's in peace.
I was lifting the couch up because I was looking for the remote. I have not found the remote. But I did find my daughter's shoe that she swore she put in the shoe basket so she has no idea why it's been lost over the past week. I also found 5 matchbox cars, a pile of cheerio's, a weird looking bug that I'm not going to tell my wife about and the entrance to Narnia.
How we as a family get so much shit behind and under our couches and chairs, I have no idea. It's almost like we are doing it on purpose. And now that I type that, I'm exactly sure that is what is happening. The kids can either clean it up or they can stash it into the infinite pit that is behind our couch. Crap. I'm going to have watch them closer when I tell them to clean up and stop hiding in the bathroom from them.
When I hear the giant crash and screaming coming from our dinning room, I'm not really sure what to expect but I am sure that what I see there isn't on any list of options any sane person could come up with. Maybe that's because sane people don't live here and the insane inmates continually throw socks and barbie heads under the couch.
Bacon Hoss is laying on the hardwood floor. He is wet. Head to toe wet. Next to him, and I'm going to try and describe this the best I can, is an empty milk jug. But there is no milk in the milk jug. What I think was in the milk jug was water, at least I hope it is water and not some sort of witches brew of dog urine and child spit. Halfway up in the milk cartoon, again more guess work here, are two quarter sized holes. In these holes is a piece of wood, it looks like old trim that I had in the garage.
So here is what I figure it was and what happened. Somehow on the table was a milk cartoon filled with water, but not all the way to the top. Through this milk cartoon was a piece of wood for what I can only assume was some sort of handle to carry the milk jug around.
Sherlock wasn't a genius, he just hung around kids alot and tried to figure out what the hell was going on in those little brains.
The questions I have now are easy enough:
1. Why the hell is there a milk jug carring device on the table?
Answer: Because my children hate me and wish to drive me insane my leaving little Bliar Witch style trophies around the house to the point that I lose whatever sembalance of sanity I once enjoyed.
2. How did it end up on the floor and covering Bacon Hoss in a pile of water.
Answer: Because he obviously saw what was some sort of magical enchantment on the table and couldn't help himself and pulled it off. Ha. Nope, he just wanted to wreck shit because that's what all my kids do. He said to himself, man it would be cool if I could get that weird thing off the table and then throw it on the ground so all the water gets on me and everywhere.
In the end it does't really matter why this modern marvel of destruction ended up on my table nor the story of how it got there. The point is that it was there and that I was a fool to think I could ever clean something up somewhere without some other part of the house getting destroyed. That's why only 1 room in my house is ever clean at one time. It's the price I pay. If I clean the living room, the dining room is going to get destroyed. If the kitchen is getting cleaned, the living room will have mold magically appear through the power of a toddler and his two older siblings. I could spend my entire day basically doing one big circle of clean without actually accomplishing anything. It's like some weird Twilight Zone episode and I'm the poor schmuck that is stuck in a time loop.
I grab the mop, which I have learned to always keep nearby, and begin the clean up. I let Bacon Hoss stew in his wet clothes while I do it. If you asked me why I didn't change him right off I would have given you the nice answer that I was trying to show him the consequences of his actions blah blah blah. But in my head I'm thinking he got what he deserved so he can suck it while I clean up this mess and try to figure out which one of my other kids sandbagged me.
I finish with that clean up and look at my now very clean and freshly mopped floor. I'm pretty happy with it actually, I got something accomplished. This floor needed a good mopping anyway. Now it sparkles and I'm going to enjoy it.
"Dada! Dog Pooped!" Bacon Hoss yells at me from the other room.
Of course he did. I forgot my own law.
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