A word of warning: This post contains a poop story. Don’t worry, it comes towards the end, so I’ll give you another warning before you get to that point. But if you’re the type who doesn’t enjoy reading about my children’s biological functions, this might not be the post for you. Perhaps you’d like to read this one instead?
This past weekend, Mrs. Cutter took a trip to Charleston to visit one of her high school friends. When she first proposed the trip, I think I laughed at her. When she said that she would bring one of the children along, I became more receptive to the idea.
There was some question as to which child would serve as her travelling companion. The Cutlet would require her own seat on the plane, so she was ruled out. Of the twins, the Cutlass seemed much more likely to sit still for the duration of the flight. In addition, Mrs. Cutter’s friend had a daughter close to the same age, so the girls could theoretically play together.
This still left me with two children to handle, but fortunately, my parents came down for the weekend to help out. This worked out pretty well for me, as on Saturday I got to go to the supermarket by myself, while my mother had to deal with changing a full diaper.
In some ways, having only one toddler on hand was more tiring. When they’re both around, you pretty much have to limit them to a small area. With only one small child to keep track of, I gave him a little more freedom to roam. And this boy can certainly roam.
For example, on Saturday night, we went to my sister’s house for dinner, and all the kids went outside to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather. Their backyard is enclosed, but for some reason, Cujo kept trying to run to the corner of the yard where the dog did her business.
I thought that perhaps the front yard was a better option, but once there, he seemed just as determined to run towards the street. At one point, I was retrieving a ball for the Cutlet, and in the five seconds I had my back turned, he had almost made it into the street.
I was finally able to distract him by letting him hold a tennis racket and helping him hit some balls. He got a real kick out of it, so maybe a tennis career is in his future. You pretty much have to start them young, so we might need to get him going with lessons in the next couple of months. (And then who’s paying the bills? Tennis kid!)
My parents eventually left, and as Sunday afternoon turned to evening, it looked like we would make it through the weekend without incident. There was just one more obstacle to overcome: Bath time.
WARNING: This is where the story delves into the poopy area. Read ahead at your own risk!
Longtime readers will know that I’ve had some bad experiences with my children pooping in the tub. For some reason, they only evacuate their bowels while I’m the one administering the bath. And it usually happens when Mrs. Cutter is not at home to help with the aftermath.
Given my history, I was on edge from the start. When I saw Cujo squatting in the water, I became quite scared. Seconds later, when the inevitable happened, I was ready for action.
I quickly pulled him out of the water and onto a towel. I then grabbed a nearby cup and scooped the biohazard into the toilet. I then wrapped the boy in a towel and shuttled him over to the dresser where I could put a diaper on him and contain any further evacuations.
I may be past my athletic prime, but I am quite proud at myself for how deftly I handled that situation. I think even Cujo was impressed with my lightning quick reaction, because he didn’t even cry.
Mrs. Cutter returned home on Monday afternoon, and reported that the Cutlass fared reasonably well on her trip. According to Mrs. Cutter, she was happy, but restless on the plane. (I wonder if this was the guy they sat next to?) She also apparently likes to talk in the middle of the night, so Mrs. Cutter was forced to leave their shared bedroom and sleep on a couch. But she seemed to enjoy getting so much one-on-one time with her mother.
Cujo also enjoyed his time as a singleton. He liked being able to get up from my lap to fetch a book or toy, and not find my lap occupied by another child when he returned.
They might have even missed each other a little. After being reunited, they shared a hug that didn’t end in screaming or biting. Maybe they actually do love each other!
It’s certainly nice to have two parents on hand again. But at least I know I can survive taking care of two kids by myself for a weekend. So if Mrs. Cutter wants to go away again in say, three years, I will probably have no qualms about letting her go.