dear oprah: this is why I deserve a free vacation

It's no secret that my Eli is a little mischievous. Behind that sweet disposition and those angelic blue eyes lurks a little rascal just looking for something to get into. But this week has been one for the books.

Tuesday. In a fit of housewifely ambition, I decided to clean the oven. I forgot about the leftover fire extinguisher residue from New Year's Eve. The house quickly filled with toxic fumes. I opened every window and packed the kids out of the house for a few hours of good, clean oxygen. When we returned hours later, I put the boys down for their naps. Completely forgetting that Eli's windows were still open - only a bit, but open. Yes, I am officially a Very Bad Mother.

I wasn't feeling well and decided to lay down for a little while. I could hear Eli playing in his room, as he often does before he goes to sleep. About twenty minutes later, I found myself... stuck in the bathroom. Suffice to say, when my dog started barking, I couldn't immediately investigate why.

When I did manage to get downstairs, I noticed that the front window was still open, and our neighbors were standing in my driveway. "Of course," I thought. "Molly's barking because the neighbors are outside." If only.

I went to close the window and heard, "Oh, thank goodness you're home!"

I opened the door. Sitting on the front porch was a pile of my son's clothes.

I peered around the corner to see my two-and-a-half-year-old son perched on the ledge of his second-story window, gleefully throwing all of his worldly possessions out on the roof. He had pushed the windows open and pushed the screens out.

The neighbors said, "We thought maybe you weren't home! We were so worried! We called Ben and left a message for him!"

(Excellent. Because this couldn't possibly be a "what Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him" situation.)

Eli said, "Hi, Mama! I'm coming out!" Huge grin morphing into terror when he saw my face.

"DON'TYOUDAREMOVESTAYTHEREIAMCOMINGTHANKYOUNEIGHBORS!" I managed to yell before dashing back into the house and up to Eli's room.

Eli was already sobbing, "I sorry Mama, I sorry Mama!" as I scooped him up and gave him three - yes, three - good spanks.

Then I burst into tears and rocked him on my lap until we both calmed down.

Then, we had a Very Big Talk about not trying to escape out the windows.

How did I feel at that moment, you ask? Mortified. Terrified. Furious. Thankful. So, so thankful.

Did I mention, MORTIFIED?

I imagine the neighbors now have CPS on speed dial.

So that was day one.

Wednesday. I put Eli in his room for a little "rest time" so that I could take a shower. Twenty minutes, tops. I opened the door as he excitedly exclaimed, "Look, Mommy! I painting wif wotion!"

Sure enough, he found a bottle of baby lotion tucked in his dresser drawer and smeared most of its contents around his room. On the floor, the walls, the toys, the books. Inside the stereo. Lots of lotion inside the stereo.

Ironically, none of it on him.

"At least lotion is better than poop!" proclaimed my mother-in-law's encouraging facebook comment.

Today.

I heard Eli stirring. I was out of bed and into the shower immediately. Not giving him the chance to get into trouble again.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed while I speed-showered and got dressed.

I opened my bedroom door and smelled poop.

I opened his bedroom door and saw... poop. Lots of it. Everywhere.

Eli, happy as ever, greeting me. "Good morning, Mama! I awake!"

Huge grin morphing into sobs of terror and regret. "I sorry Mama, I sorry!"

I didn't hit. I didn't swear. But oh, I yelled. I stormed around gathering cleaning supplies and hollering. "CAN'T I JUST LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR FIVE MINUTES IN YOUR ROOM WITHOUT YOU WREAKING HAVOC?!!"

I dumped him in the tub, where he let me scrub and rinse without a fuss. (Oh, you better not fuss, kid.)

Then, being dried off, he looked at me with great seriousness. "Mommy, I forgive you," he said. And gave me a hug.

Well then.

"I forgive you, too," I said.

I hugged him back, kissed his head, cleaned poop for half an hour, and we went on with our day. Because that, friends, is life with children.