They say some ‘days’ are “like that”. For me, it’s been a whole week of “like that”.

Let’s start with the invasion of the ants. Overnight, from out of nowhere, come millions of tiny sugar ants. They cover everything. I’m thoroughly grossed out by these dreadful creatures and fight them with all my might. I buy raid, ant baits, traps, and boric powder. Then Wednesday- a friend tells me the secret of baby powder. Within HOURS the ants were gone!

Before I had gotten rid of the sugar ants though- the one year old had decided to lick them from the kitchen floor. Yes, you read correctly. The sad part in that scene is that I was more concerned over him licking the dirty floor than actually ingesting ants. I figured the germs were more likely to cause harm and if nothing else, the ants were the day’s source of protein. Hey, I have my priorities.

The next day, still breathing after eating the ants and licking the floor, the child decides to take my computer mouse and hide it. This could have happened on a better day. I was in the middle of a large project that was, of course, due that day! Two hours later I find the missing mouse. Where was it? Snuggled in a pile of stuffed animals in his sister’s room. Of course! I should have looked there first! Silly me…

So now, the ants are gone, the assignment is complete and we have no food. Send the girl to school, pack the little one in the car and off to the store we go – all before 8 am! Normally, mornings are a good time of day to take the baby out- he’s generally happy then. But no, not today. Of course not. Right in the middle of aisle six- somewhere around the soup can section, the little booger decides to have a catastrophic, category three meltdown. There is no appeasing him. I try to carry him and he screeches in my ear, tries to pull my hair out and climb to the top of my head. It’s as though I have a rabid monkey climbing all over me! I find a box of Nilla Wafers on an end cap and rip it open. He stops crying and relaxes. Ok…I set him back in the seat – dangling the box in front of him. He’s mesmerized. And silent! Ok…I hand him a wafer. He takes it, but reaches for the box. I say no, and close it. I can see the scream start to build in his eyes. I quickly hand it over to him. Yes. I know the psychology behind it- it has now become a control game, but at this point in time, I’m letting him win the game. He smiles and takes the box from my hand and takes out another wafer. We make it to the frozen foods section when all of a sudden; he screams and throws the box on the floor – Nilla Wafers sliding halfway down the aisle, and me wondering why in the world I had decided to have a second child! The manager walks by as I try to clean up the mess, and he (very sympathetically) tells me not to worry about it. Of course, I think he was just hoping I would hurry up and leave the store!

After a painful wait in the checkout line we finally get the bill settled and exit the store.

The minute we step out he looks at me and says “cookie?” I just glare at him and he smiles.

And now we come to this afternoon. My daughter had taken a bath and was at the kitchen table doing homework. I was sitting, working on this very column. Now, from my desk, I cannot see into the kitchen. I hear my daughter go “Oh My, Bobby!” I close my eyes. This can’t be good. I hear him walk across the wood floor into the family room, where I am working. I open them. He is DRENCHED. From head to toe, sopping wet.

Have I ever mentioned my son LOVES to take baths? And is able to get in and out of the tub by himself (a new trick, mind you). My first response was that Rachel had not let the water out of the bathtub. She insisted she did. She was right. Apparently, the little wet monkey boy of mine dashed in the bathroom after his sister left and got in the tub while the water was draining. And had a fine old time! Taking wet clothes off a baby who does not want to be out of his wet clothes is a comedic episode in itself. Much like wrestling a slimy eel in a vat of oil, I imagine.

Of course, in the middle of this mayhem, the pizza guy arrives with dinner. It just gets better.

Maybe next week will be better.

God help me, if it’s worse!
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Debbie Panell is a full time freelance writer who lives near Raleigh, North Carolina with her two children, German Shepherd and multiple cats.