Six is the number of times I have cleaned pee out of the carpet in the past two days.
The girl decided to forget how to use the potty yesterday and instead go wherever she chooses. Once while sitting on my lap nursing. Once after sitting down on the ground next to the kitchen so a stream could puddle on the carpet and spray the linoleum all at once. Another time she stood in the bedroom next to my bed staring stupidly at a spot on the wall as it ran down her pants and into more carpet. (I am a walking commercial for Nature’s Miracle; it really works.) But she’s still learning how to do this and I have some patience for her.
Then, this morning, the boy comes into my room to tell me that he pooed, so I go to help him, which is when I notice the tiny spatters of liquid poo all over the bathroom floor. He apparently mistook a little diarrhea for a fart and it came out on the floor. Slightly irritated but realizing it’s not really his fault, I help him to wipe up all of the splatters and rinse out the towel that wasn’t smart enough to get out of the way in time. Then we proceed to the living room and he tells me that he peed on the floor. My four-year-old potty-trained boy peeing on the rug. WHY? Because he couldn’t tear himself away from the show he was watching long enough to go the few extra steps to the bathroom and urinate in the toilet.
One is the number of times I was angry with my son today. See if you can guess when.