As a parent, I could probably just start an entire blog entitled ‘What was he/she thinking?!,’ and this particular incident would probably be in the top 10.
Prior to our things arriving, Sophia and Kathleen slept in government-provided beds (which are now in the ‘furniture room,’ one day to be Edwin’s room along with three other beds and various other furniture). Kathleen had a twin, but Sophia was in a folding port-a-crib. Cribs generally aren’t particularly fascinating, but this crib had an attractive (to Kathleen) feature: wheels.
Many an evening we would find Sophia wheeled over next to Kathleen’s bed and sometimes Sophia would be woken from a sound sleep by her sister playing bumper cars with her crib and the other bed in the room.
One afternoon, I took a nap. Kathleen and Sophia also took a nap, but evidently they woke up before I did because Sophia’s crying woke me up from my nap. Groggily (after trying to ignore the cries for a few minutes), I went to find what Kathleen had been doing to bother her sister.
When I got to their room, however, they were nowhere to be found. Continuing down the hallway in search of my misbehaving three year-old, I saw something odd: Sophia’s crib, in the kitchen. When I looked further, my pace increasing to a run, I saw things in Sophia’s crib other than just Sophia.
Upon arriving in the kitchen, I found Sophia sitting partially buried by piles of clothes. Kathleen had decided to amuse herself by emptying the entire laundry bag into Sophia’s crib and then adding their entire winter wardrobe that had been in their closet on top for good measure. Figuring that Sophia would need some shoes to go with her clothes, Kathleen threw in all of the shoes she could find for good measure, too.
Not content with merely clothing her sister, however, Kathleen decided that Sophia needed fed. And that’s where the kitchen came in. Not only was Sophia under piles of clothes, but she had several litres of UHT milk, ketchup, lemon juice, Worsterchire sauce, cheese, butter, green beans, okra, peppers, tomatoes, and about twenty packages of yogurt.
By this time I was livid. Kathleen knew not to put clothes in Sophia’s crib (she learned that from my reaction several days before when she had put everything in their room in Sophia’s crib), she knew not to leave her room during naptime, and she knew to leave the food in the refrigerator. What was she thinking?!?
But the last, the ultimate, the final outrage, the one that left her in the dark hall bathroom for three hours until her father came home, the one that left me with an hour and a half of cleanup and two loads of laundry to wash, fold, and put away, was the eggs.
Yes, eggs. Eggs are funny in how easily they break. They break when cracked in a bowl. They break when dropped on the floor. And they most certainly break when tossed into a crib full of sister, clothes, and food. And when they break they get on everything: clothes, sister, crib, food, and floor.