I make a mental note to find other ways to punish him. Taking his iPad away doesn’t work. Maybe I’ll make him clean out the toilet or something equally as gross.
“Is my hair gonna fall out?”
“No, sweetheart, your hair isn’t going to fall out.” At least I hope it doesn’t. What the hell do I know about removing gum from hair?
I take my phone out of my pocket to Google it as Henry tugs on my arm to pull himself up. He doesn’t have a good grip and tumbles back, smacking his head on the coffee table. Loud sobs begin immediately, and a cup wobbles precariously on the table.
Damn it. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” I scoop him up and cradle him to me as the cup topples off the table. It lands on the floor; the lid pops off, and chocolate milk goes flying.
Son of a bitch. Why do these things happen to me?
“Emma, honey, can you grab the cup for me? Shhhh.” I rub Henry’s head, hoping it’ll stop him from screaming in my ear. “Jack, can you get in here and give me a hand?”
“I’m in trouble, remember?” he yells.
How did my life come to this? And it’s only Monday.
Never mind. Stupid question. I know how and why and when and all the horrible details in between.
With Henry cradled to my chest, I walk into the kitchen, grab a string of paper towels, and toss them over the mess on the living room floor.
Emma leans right under my nose and starts wiping up the mess. She’s pushing the milk around more than she’s cleaning it up, but I love that she wants to help, so I let it go.
Henry finally calms down and wiggles out of my hold. I kiss his head and set him on the floor by his toys so I can finish helping Emma clean up.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
She responds by smiling and hands me a wad of towels dripping with chocolate milk.
“What happened?” Jack asks, walking into the living room.
I sit back on my haunches and look at him. “Was that your chocolate milk on the table?”
“Yeah.”
“Next time, if you’re not going to finish it, put it in the refrigerator or dump it out. Don’t just leave it sitting there.”
“You don’t have to yell at me for it.”
“Jack.” I blow out a breath and shake my head. “I’m not yelling at you.”
“Yes, you are. You always yell.”
Sometimes I do, but most of the time I talk loudly because that seems to be the only way I can get the kid to hear me. “I’m not arguing with you about this. Go throw these in the trash for me.”
He takes the wet towels and walks off. After I wipe the floor down with disinfectant and the stickiness is gone, I grab Henry and go in search of Emma, who completely disappeared on me.
“Emma?”
“I’m in da bafwoom.”
Please, please, don’t let there be piss or shit on my bathroom floor.
“What are you doing, sweetie?” I ask, poking my head into the bathroom.
“Twying to get da gum out.” Her bright blue eyes blink up at me. Her hands are in her blond curls, and the blob of gum is now streaked down the length of her hair.
“Oh, Emma.” How do I fix this? I can unclog any drain, fix a deck, repair a car, change the lightbulb, work on the plumbing, give baths like a boss, but I don’t know what in the world to do about this.