I can’t. I just can’t actually live with these children. You will literally not believe what happened.
And by the way, I am totally breaking some really powerful secrets here to write what happened in my house on a random Wednesday night. But you all need to know. You need to know that I am living with the most hairbrained, energetic, and curious monsters you ever did see. Just like their Dad. 😉 In fact, the quite unusual happens every frickin’ day. It just does.
Whenever Murphy’s Law kicks in and one of THE MOST ridiculous things happens, there is always a lot of shrieking and yelling to figure out what in the actual heck is going on, and I am praying and hoping that the nice, quiet lady from up the subdivision is not walking through our yard from the YMCA and hearing the melee that is happening behind our doors. (Sometime soon, I am going to have the kids and hubby yell while I stand in the yard to gauge what our neighbors hear.)
I fully expect someone to up and call the cops on us one of these days as we are regularly yelling forcefully for someone to “Get DOWN!” or “DO NOT PUT YOUR FINGERS IN THERE!” or “PUT THE LID BACK ON THE PAINT CAN!” or “WHY IS YOUR CARPET ALL WET?” or my personal favorite, “YOU DID WHAT?” If the cops ever get called, I won’t blame the caller, sometimes it might actually sound like someone is dying.
Earlier this week, I was again met with another “you gotta be kidding me a moment.” I can’t actually name the offender, because I am pretty sure if I do, he or she will read this one day and want to murder me in my sleep. One of my offspring seared off a layer of the skin on his or her bare bottom on our fireplace glass. Not even kidding. The child literally burnt his/her biscuits, which is a saying that we use quite a bit when we want to convey the message that we are upset.
We have a three-sided fireplace that divides our dining nook and our living room. It was on and we were all getting baths and getting ready for bed. Said child came out from the bathroom and was getting on jammies. The warmth from the fireplace has a pull and this child went toward the fireplace with bum out to warm up a chilly backside. Next thing I know, said child is hopping up in down with a pained looking face.
Then some shrieking. Then I was yelling, asking the child to please, PLEASE tell me what was wrong. The child didn’t move, just jumped up and down and shrieked. For awhile. I was sure he or she was possessed. The child wouldn’t tell me what happened but eventually turned around to show me a bottom with an angry red blister on one cheek.
Sure enough, the unclothed, fresh from the bath bum touched the glass of our fireplace and got burned. The child told us that while walking by the fireplace, he or she accidentally brushed the fireplace. This cannot happen. We have a hearth that prevents anything from brushing up against the glass unless your bum is the size of Kim Kardashian’s.
This was a deliberate act, trying to warm a bum and there are two tennis ball-sized blisters on each cheek to show for it. The blister is only on one cheek and the skin is angry and red. I was worried about how they would sit the next day and if the area would become infected. How in the heck would I explain a blistered butt to my doctor?
Shawn and I helped the child get some ointment and lectured about not touching the glass. Ever. Which we have said many, many times before. But, silly us, we never thought to warn them about putting their bare butt on the hot glass. Add that to the list of things I never thought I’d say. It’s an ever-growing list.
Love,
Stef