Little boy, big trouble.

So ragged today.

I had a great run on Saturday afternoon, despite the wind, but I think because of the exertion in the wind I immediately had a raw sinus/throat thing going on. Well, for some stupid reason it has stuck with me, making me feel icky and fatigued today. I could also feel icky and fatigued as a result of the amount of throw-up I've been dealing with since 3 a.m. Saturday. (Poor, sick Gavin.) I wish someone had been keeping track of the number of messes I have cleaned up over the past four days (four years?).

So I was contemplating this state of motherhood I am in where every move I make is an attempt to clean up The Mess, and wondering what I am to learn from it all in the grand scheme of proving myself in this life . . . and I gotta tell you, I'm drawing a blank. I understand motherhood in its power to influence children for good and all that jalopy, but seriously with the stinky messes! I have mastered Milk Spills 101, yo! I get it! So what am I to learn from the incessant milk spilling?!

Other courses I am currently taking semester after semester:

Everybody Poops, and They Do It a lot
Diaper Rash Creams: None of Them Work
Undiapered Baby Will Pee on the Carpet, Even if Your Home is 96% Hard Floors
Top Bunk Puking and Other Scenarios You Never Imagined
Snot Happens
Vaseline Lids Are Not Baby-proof

Okay. So I sit here thinking about all of the things Dax gets into, and holy mackerel, that kid is a beast. I wish I was exaggerating when I say that I spend most of his awake time in disaster clean-up mode. Disaster! His level of destruction was set to turbo-max as soon as he became mobile. Just thinking about some of the things he did TODAY: he spilled laundry soap all over himself and the floor, he spilled Cheerios and Rice Krispies at different times all over the house, he climbed onto the kitchen table for the billionth time and threw apples and oranges all over the kitchen, he grabbed the utensils from the opened dishwasher and threw them all over the floor, he climbed up a ladder, he threw his food and drinks at every meal, he dumped multiple cupfuls of water out of the bathtub, he ate a bar of soap and a handful of mud, he destroyed the kids' blocks and then the kids' marble run, he ruined the kids' games of Rummikub and Sorry, he put marbles and game pieces into his mouth, he chewed on books and puzzle pieces, he climbed onto my bed and threw papers and laundry everywhere, he dropped his bowl of snacks into the toilet, he climbed onto stools and into closets . . .

YOU THINK I'M KIDDING?!

If you're thinking to yourself that he must be highly unsupervised, think again. A kid opens a bathroom door and I yell, "Close the door so Dax won't get in!" But guess what? Dax's hands are bathing in toilet water by the time I'm done yelling. My kitchen chairs are pushed up against the wall with the table blocking them, but he manages to shove enough space between to start his climbing and fruit throwing. I sit right next to the bathtub, but my quick hands aren't quick enough to beat him to the soap, and when I grab the soap, he grabs the cup and starts dumping. My cereals are in "air-tight" containers. I truly try to keep everything out of reach, but he has go-go-gadget arms. There's only so much you can do without selling everything and living in an empty house.

 He's been called a monster many times, but Leif and the kids recently came up with the best nickname for him: Stitch. (I can hear my sisters laughter right now.) Have you seen the movie Lilo and Stitch? There has never been a truer comparison.

I love you, little Stitch. Someday I will miss your tiny tyranny, but for now . . . give your poor mom a break every now and again, 'eh? Especially when she's been mopping up throw-up for days in a row.

 *Note to self: review usage of capilization in titles