This morning, while encouraging them to play together by themselves so I could cook breakfast (ie. check email, look at Facebook and possibly post on Twitter) I quickly heard a scream of terror from the second floor.
This is a usual occurrence so I chose to ignore it and go back to social media, I mean, cooking.
However, two seconds later, my daughter comes downstairs and tells me that she needs a towel fast.
“Oh geez, what for?” I ask with my eyes already rolling.
“He won’t stop spitting water into Barbie’s toilet like he’s puking!” She answers, exasperated.
“What????” I ask as I make my way upstairs. The walk I like to refer to as “Dead Mom Walking” – it’s the walk that always ends in a bad, bad situation.
And sure enough, there is my son, taking the water from his sippy cup and spitting it out into the miniature toilet in the Barbie Dream house while making a horrible gagging noise that resembles what I sounded like the first time I did a Jager shot.
“NO!” I shout. “Do not spit water from your cup into the Barbie toilet!” I yell. (A sentence I never thought I would utter)
To which my son simply says, “I’m cleaning the toilet.”
So needless to say, when my son goes to college I’m not only terrified if he joins a fraternity house, but I’m also sure he’ll need to hire a professional cleaning person who won’t try to clean the toilet with vomit.12 Comments