Julia was upstairs.
In theory she had gone up there to brush her teeth.
Of course, she must Waste Time And Drive Her Mother Crazy before she can settle down to actually do something as mundane as brush her teeth.
So I heard other noises…a clinking sound – she was disassembling the Diplodocus she or Alex had built out of Legos at some point and left beside one of the bathroom sinks. I let it stay because it was huge and rather impressive, and I like to encourage my kids' artistic/creative sides. Most of them.
Anyway, I hollered up to check on Julia a couple times. "Are you brushing your teeth?" "I'm putting the toothpaste on my toothbrush!" "ARE YOU BRUSHING YOUR TEETH YET?" "I'M PUTTING TOOTHPASTE ON MY TOOTHBRUSH!"
If she had a toothbrush the size of our truck, I'd believe her. But she doesn't.
I was trying to type up a post. Just a little one. Just something. I really didn't want to have to go up and check on her. But she is someone who – at least right now – requires a lot of checking up on.
I heard another sound. The sound of someone standing on the toilet. The seat and lid down…someone (who could it be???) standing on it, maybe looking outside, and NOT putting toothpaste anywhere near a toothbrush.
"Julia, GET OFF THE TOILET!"
"I'M NOT! I'M PUTTING TOOTHPASTE ON MY TOOTHBRUSH!"
Maybe that's code for something, and I have to crack the code. It's seeming like "I'm putting toothpaste on my toothbrush" must stand for something else.
I sat there, mid-post, and buried my head in my hands for a moment. I really didn't want to go upstairs and tower above her shouting meaningless noise at her laughing little face. Some days, I want to wave a white flag and just crawl into bed.
Alex volunteered to go see what she was doing. My little knight.
He went upstairs and suddenly shouted "Mom! You better get up here! Quick!"
I trudged wearily up the stairs and as I turned right at the top of the stairs I saw, reflected in the huge mirror above the sink, my daughter.
In her underwear.
Standing, on one foot, on the TANK of the toilet.
Her other foot was hidden by Bill's towel. The towel that was hanging neatly on the towel rack that runs along that wall, beside the toilet. Julia had looped her left leg up over that towel rack and now her foot was jammed in and she couldn't get herself out.
Coincidentally I'd just read Sheila's post about the Nureyev bio she's currently reading. Maybe Julia was trying to be a ballerina. The towel rack was her barre? I don't know.
But I got her foot out. I showed her the Princess Ariel toothbrush on the counter – dry of bristle and devoid of toothpaste. I explained what a LIE is. And told her to brush her teeth. NOW.
That is a little peek at my morning.
How's yours going?