The next time a stranger says to me, "Oh triplets! I always wanted to do my kids all at once," I am going to give them the play by play of what exactly happened today.
I won't do it here. I like my readers too much. I want ya'll to come back and keep reading. By relating to you the details of what went within the walls of this home today, you will erase this blog from your reader, claim you never knew me and if the subject of triplets ever comes up in a conversation again, you will get queasy and excuse yourself.
So I'll spare you the exact details. But the stranger that utters those words, so help me, I will tell them EXACTLY what happened. Every gory detail. Especially if they have that look in their eye where I know all they're thinking about is matching onesies and names that all start with Z. And rhyme.
Then, at least after they have conversed with me, even if they don't believe everything that happened, they will change their mind, because they will think I am crazy. And I clearly became this way from having three children the same age. They don't want to share my fate.
I will tell you this. (It's still a bit scary.) There are times during a normal course of play that my little darlings suddenly become a mob. You know when a city's team loses the championship and crazed fans take to the street to riot? Cars are overturned, building are smashed up, shops are looted, mayhem. Pure mayhem.
As I was putting on my disaster clean up suit to enter one area of my house, I left everyone alone to play. Apparently they were jacked up on milk and goldfish they had consumed for snack time and decided to riot. Pieces of furniture were OVERTURNED. Toy tool benches and basketball hoops were on their sides. Little people were running and jumping on all of these large objects, with glee and delight! Baby gates had been scaled. What used to separate the play room from the large treadmill, stove (thank goodness I didn't light a fire today), and other things that toddlers should not have access to was breached. Mayhem! Pure mayhem.
Thanks to a sweet neighbor who came over within minutes of me calling for backup, the day was salvaged. I was able to regain control over what was looking like a no hope situation. Things got better.
It also didn't hurt that daddy brought home ice cream stuffed with peanut butter and fudge for this weary mamma. I'm pretty sure he heard my clenched teeth through my texts this afternoon.
Now it's bedtime, and my three little rioting mobsters are sleeping soundly. That's the wonderful thing about bedtime. Through the routine of pjs and teeth and bedtime songs, the harsh memories of a horrible afternoon soften a little. They lay their tiny heads on your shoulder as you say a bedtime prayer. Their sweet little lips say "ah-men" and give you a kiss they already know you're going to ask for. You breath a little deeper.
Tomorrow will be a better day.