Breaking Up is Hard to do

So, Wilson and I had a fight yesterday. He started it by going to use the bathroom and then calling me when he was finished. "Mama! There's water everywhere!", I hear as I'm walking into the bathroom to see my son's hand coming out of the used toilet bowl splashing "water everywhere" with it. This, less than hour before we were supposed to leave to go out to eat with my family for my brother's birthday. He was, of course, already dressed in what he really wanted to wear- his cowboy outfit. The cowboy outfit that I had spent all afternoon hand sewing new cuffs on to make the pants longer since he still loves them, but they'd gotten a little short. The shirt sleeves are soaked, so I yank the shirt off and march him upstairs to try and find something that sort of matches the pants & boots and to dissinfect him. The one solid color, long sleeve shirt that I can find has a mystery stain on the sleeve. After running it under water, mystery solved, it suds up- orange dog shampoo (S-A-N-T-A made a Target run and had heard that we were low on doggie shampoo and that it would be a great stocking stuffer. Wilson needed a plain white shirt to wear under his Christmas sweaters for church. Apparently the two rode home together in the same bag). So after drenching the sleeve to get the orange out, I go downstairs to run the hairdryer over the sleeve to dry it. Of course, halfway through Wilson starts chattering at me about something and I turn the dryer off to hear him. The dryer then decides that it's worked hard enough for one day & won't turn back on. So, into the real dryer the mostly dry shirt goes with the day's soaking wet load of laundry. I then told Wilson that I was extremely frustrated and that I needed him to go to the playroom or his room so that he would not get yelled at. He proceeded to shadow me, chattering all the way.

He got yelled at. I went to my room.

A few minutes later Dad calls to say he's on his way home and laughs at the above events. When I hang up with him I open my door to try to find Wilson. It's very quiet and I have no idea where he is. I go up to his room, look in his bed, in his closet, under the baby bed, in Miller's closet, then all over the down stairs- he's nowhere to be found. His lion and silky soft are laying on the floor of the sun room where he was playing with them earlier but he's not with them. I start to wonder if he walked out of the house, but think, no I would have heard the door. Just then I start hearing some faint snoring sounds- thank God for nasty colds. I follow the distinct sound of sludge passing in and out of nasal cavities.

Wilson ended the fight. . .nothing like a real good guilt trip to bring mom around . . .

That's him, passed out, in what is basically a do-it-yourselfer's construction zone, on the bare concrete of our sun porch, with no shirt on, head on a tool box, his only friend the Rubik's cube by his side, hoping I'll open that door (which is one of the entrances to our bedroom). As soon as I finally found him, I knew I was the germ in the toilet I was mad at him for splashing in.

And that I was glad he fell asleep so close to the camera.

Fortunately, Phil was home not too much longer and able to get him off the floor. We all enjoyed a wonderful hibachi meal at Little Tokyo for Uncle John's 19th.

We all made it there with (sort of) clean shirts on.