This is my bathroom right now.
And, why, you might ask, does it look like a bad episode of Hoarders up in here? Well, we’re really not sure. The whole time I was frantically trying to sop up water, I was no-no-ing Max, who took the fall when I asked who turned the water on. After all, he was the one who frantically ran to me saying, “Water comin’!” The music was up loud and I was in major cleaning mode (making up for a week and a half of being in major busy and/or lazy mode) so I just assured him that it was the washing machine and started to go about my business. Until he ran into the bathroom and I saw the sheet of water cascading onto the already-puddled floor. The lid was off of the Vaseline, which every forensic investigator knows will incriminate the almost-two year old. So I asked him if he was responsible for the mess. He said yes. I launched into a lecture, told big bros to stop laughing and get me some towels, and proceeded to survey the damage. Brilliance struck and I revised my request to one for dirty laundry. Plenty of that around here tonight! You woulda thought I invented a new game. Who knew it could be so fun to drag dirty clothes out of the hamper and throw it in puddles? Underwear got an extra big laugh. And pants legs that accidentally got thrown in the toilet. Mama wasn’t laughing. Not at the water seeping behind the still-not nailed in baseboards (let’s pretend the bathroom redo was a recent affair, shall we?) Not at the the water caught in the trashcan mostly full of shaving clippings and Q-tips. And certainly not at the puddles that had made their way into three drawers, including the uber messy random make-up products collection.
Fast forward through the cleanup, the constant squalling by kids hyped up on dirty-undie humor and a lack of adult supervision, three time-outs (all served by one offender), a broken baseboard (they don’t make great slipper slides, ftr), mom’s demon-possessed voice sending one to bed an hour and a half early and another to somewhere where I “don’t see or hear you the rest of the night,” and we arrive to the scene of my epiphany. Max had wandered into the bathroom (against his better judgement - he still hasn’t learned to read moods...) and stood by the sink. Something clicked. “Max? Can you show Mommy how you turned on the water?” I asked. “Ok...UHHH!.... UHHH!.... I can’t reachit, Mommy.” Yes, I see... So I called in the other suspects. One immediately shook his head no. The other sucked quietly on his jammies, then submitted, “Well, I did turn the water on, but I think I turned it off...”