The absolute joys of getting three boys ready to go anywhere, (especially family occasions) can be a dirty job.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve held off dressing them until D has the car running. They will get dirty between the hallway and the 7, (yes 7~ I’ve counted) steps to the car. J has this down to a fine art. He will have dirty hands, which he will smear onto his face, then onto his pants. I will spot this 5 minutes too late, hand him a baby wipe which he will end up sitting on, leaving a wet stain on his pants. Then he will blame me.
Meanwhile, Ethan and the baby will be secretly having another poo-ing contest and trying their best to stink out the car on the wettest day of the year. Did I mention we live in Ireland~ a great little country, if we could only roof the place.
D will have to pull over so I can change Ethan while he investigates the baby’s situation, thank God for blacked out windows. Vital, when you’ve a baby and a child with special needs. Ethan will stick his hands everywhere giggling while I try to clean him, imagine an Octopus laughing hysterically while you try to clean under its many arms… D has his own problems, baby D will not be cooperative as he likes the worm move, he will wriggle, twist and turn while D sweats trying to get his bum bum fully cleaned…I’ll not lie, we are not always successful.
J will take this opportunity to ask for a raise in his allowance…
Finally, everyone is clean, apart form J and his stained new pants. “It’s ok mom, it’s fine” he will shrug his shoulders as I try to wipe his pants clean. I give up normally somewhere between D starting the engine up and Ethan kicking me, as my ass, which is not as small as it used to be, is blocking his beloved ‘Spongebob’ playing on the badly hung DVD player.
We get there, late. Opening the car doors, we see baby got sick while Ethan got hold of some, what we can only hope, is chocolate and J’s pants have now got Ethan stained handprints all over it. “It wasn’t my fault” J will state with a smirk on his face. No matter how much I check the car or how often, those two, are bloodhounds when it comes to chocolate, it’s either that or they are great smugglers.
At this stage, I give up, not totally though, I wipe them down again,(God bless baby wipes) telling them just try to stay clean. Ethan hates getting his hands cleaned so I tend to end up playing dodge the punches while D is struggling with the baby, who rocks his head from side to side,laughing and trying to grab D’s face, as D changes his dribbler and wipes down his top. Finally, we look presentable.
I take their little hands in mine while D has the baby in his. We walk to the entrance when J will suddenly stop “Yuck, Mom, yuck” he will pull his hand away. I know already,it has happened that many times. I’ll look down at my wedding ring and there it will be, in between the sparkling diamonds looking right at me…brown mushed up bits stuck deep within the diamonds. I don’t even gag anymore. I calmly take off my rings and place them into my handbag, you know the tiny pocket that’s in the inside, yeah that one, it’s perfect for poo wedding rings.