I have always sworn to Hubby that any house we own will be completely without carpet. I am guessing the original inventor(s) imagined a nice carpet would warm up the floor, cushion the feet, etc. But with central air and comfy slippers...I just don't see the need.
What I DO see is an extremely vulnerable (see: everything lands on me) part of the house which is made of stain-able, difficult to clean material. My life would become immeasurably easier if I could only rid my house of all things carpet.
For example, last night when I dropped an entire bowl of chili on the floor as I carried it to the table (still not sure how that one happened) instead of spending the next hour on my hands and knees scrubbing the carpet and picking beans out of the fibers...I could have simply wiped it up...maybe used the mop if I was feeling ambitious.
Similarly, tonight...when the boys were running around naked, fresh from the bath while I laid out pajamas, grabbed diapers and put toothpaste on their respective brushes, the massive poop Middle-Bug decided to deposit on his bedroom floor would have been a much simpler task to clean. Also...when Big-Bug and Middle-Bug BOTH stepped in the pile, then ran out to tell me "poop is here!" it wouldn't have resulted in a trail from one end of the house to the other, requiring much knee-work and multiple bottles of cleaner/stain remover. And can I just say...it's one thing to step in your own poop when you're a toddler...but your brother's? That's just gross.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
This child is trying to give me a heart attack! Middle-Bug, who is currently approaching 21 months of age, has a new found love...football. When I walk into his room in the morning to get him from his crib, his first words to me are "Wook! Bookball!" as he excitedly points to his toy box. The second his feet hit the floor he runs over and picks up his beloved ball, which he continues to clutch to his chest while his diaper is changed and breakfast is prepared. Throughout the day he will present his ball to me with a sweet "pwease!" hoping I will hold it so he can take a running kick, sometimes I will admit, I indulge him (he actually has a pretty good kick!) Later as I sit on the floor with the boys, Middle-Bug will go down into a three-point stance, look at me from across the room and yell "hut, hut, hike!" and tackle me for all he's worth (which thankfully ends up very similar to a hug.) Harmless enough, right? Well here comes the problem. Middle-Bug's 3 year old big brother is his favorite playmate and is more than pleased to engage in a little game of football with his baby brother. Only, in Big-Bug's eyes, Middle-Bug isn't much of a baby anymore and doesn't require the gentle touch of days gone by. So the other day, as I innocently stand in the kitchen preparing dinner, the boys start up a game of football in the living room. I can't see them from my angle, but I hear plenty of giggles on both sides so figure they are having a good time. Not a minute later, the boys come barreling into view, Middle-Bug in the lead (with the "bookball") and Big-Bug in hot pursuit. As they near the dining room table (yep, you can see where this is headed) Big-Bug tackles Middle-Bug from behind, sending him flying forward through the air. His flight is stopped by the corner of a leg of a dining room chair which catches him directly in the eye/brow bone/cheek bone and instantly bruises in a long vertical line down the entire left side of his face. I immediately assume the worst and spend the next 15 minutes poking and prodding on Middle-Bug's face checking for fractures or tenderness and watching his pupils for normal constriction/dilation. Once I had satisfied myself that the bruise is the worst of his injuries, I served dinner. So now my 21 month old son has the gnarliest of black eyes as well as a huge bruise to his cheek. His first football injury....time to buy that kid a helmet with a face guard.