Typical Monday morning. Breakfast was finished and the 2 big boys had started on their schoolwork. I started on the breakfast dishes and realized that my 18 month old wasn’t standing next to me unloading the dishwasher as I loaded it. In fact, I couldn’t hear him or the 3 year old at all. Suspicious, but also momentarily peaceful. As I scrubbed the egg yolk off of the plates I knew I should probably go check and see what was keeping them so quietly occupied, because it was sure to be bad. I will just do a few more and then go check, I thought. Bad plan.

At that moment, my 3 year old came running in with blood all over her hand, screaming, “Blood, mommy, blood!” Tears were streaming down her face as I swooped her up to rinse her hand so I could get a better look.

“What happened??? What did you touch?” I asked.

“I touched nuffing!” She screamed, her voice rising to a crazed pitch. “I didn’t touch NUFFIN!”

I realized that these tears were of fear more than of pain. I lowered my voice almost to a whisper as I held her close, “Honey, I promise I won’t be mad, but I need to know what happened. Tell me what you touched that made you bleed.”

She just wailed, “NUFFING!” again, so I started carrying her toward the other end of the house to look for her little brother and the scene of the crime. She arched her back, “No! NOOOO! Not that way! Pwease! PWEASE! I DIDN’T TOUCH NUFFING!”

At this point I was pretty sure that “NUFFING” was code for “Something I KNOW I shouldn’t have touched, so therefore I will never admit it”. I continued to my bathroom where I saw my 18 month old delightedly shredding toilet paper and a small smear of blood beside my husband’s razor, which was lying on the ground.

“Sweetheart, did you touch daddy’s razor?”

“NOOOOO! He did! He did!”

“Then why are YOU bleeding?”

“He MADE he touch it! Don’t tell daddy, don’t tell daddy!”

As I cleaned her thumb and bandaged it, my 18 month old took advantage of my distraction to throw cat food in the toilet and brush his teeth with his big brother’s toothbrush. I finally ushered all of us out of the bathroom with my daughter still crying hysterically.

“Daddy will know what I did when he sees my bandaid! Don’t tell him! He will be mad!” (if as this point you think we beat and or torture our children when they misbehave, we don’t, but this particular child is very sensitive to even the mildest of reprimands).

I cuddled her and assured her that daddy would not be mad. I gave her a brief explanation of how razors work to cut the hair on daddy’s face, but no further lecture seemed necessary. I’m pretty sure she will keep her distance from it in the future.

And THAT dear readers is a sample of my daily life. It’s never the same, never repeated, yet always an element of chaos in the ordinary. My dishes still aren’t done. My 18 month old is still wandering around the house looking for mischief. And I am still here. Living this beautiful, crazy, ridiculous, insane, ordinary mom life as cheerfully imperfect as I can.

PAID ENDORSEMENT DISCLOSURE: In order for me to support my blogging activities, I may receive monetary compensation or other types of remuneration for my endorsement, recommendation, testimonial and/or link to any products or services from this blog.

AMAZON DISCLOSURE: The owner of this website is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon properties including, but not limited to, amazon.com, endless.com, myhabit.com, smallparts.com, or amazonwireless.com.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor and the statements on this blog have not been evaluated by the FDA. Any products or techniques mentioned are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease. I am just a mom who shares what works for me!