The Great Spaghetti Massacre

Excuse my absence lately. I’ve been up to my elbows in children.

My other half has had the possibility of a long business trip looming over his head for a few months now, but when it got serious, it got serious fast.

We had about a week and a half’s notice that he’d be headed to Europe for 3 long weeks. We’ve done this before — thank the gods for Facetime! — but the distance is hard, and the 8-hour time difference makes the evenings long for the kids and I.

One night, I made a spaghetti feast. I’m having trouble scaling down my meal sizes and accidentally ended up with entirely too much. I served each kiddo a bowl, and stripped 1-year-old Violet down to her diaper.

My strong-willed little blossom baby stood up in her high chair, took off her diaper, casually threw it on the floor, and sat down to eat. Except she didn’t eat — she apparently doesn’t like spaghetti.

Penny, 5, and Malcolm, 3, thought Violet was hilarious. They picked at their dinners while laughing hysterically at their rebellious little sis.

As dinner was wrapping up, Violet was restless of being in her chair, so I put her naked self on the floor to run laps around the kitchen table. I decided a diaper would be silly, since we were all headed upstairs to the bath anyway.

The chance of Vi accidentally peeing was so funny to the big kids. I realized the level of tomfoolery was rising and went to put my massive amount of spaghetti into some tupperware.

The kids were cackling as I tried to get the pasta into three separate containers. Spaghetti was all over. Meatballs rolled along the countertops. I was picking up leftovers with my fingers and shoving them into clear containers, spaghetti squeezing out when I tried to secure the lids.

Then, I heard a rush of liquid.

Immediately, I looked at the naked baby. Nope, she wasn’t peeing.

Penny told me proudly, while laughing, “Mom! I’m peeing!”

This girl… wow. She seemed bored about Violet’s lack of accidents and wanted to stir up some fun.

There I was on a Sunday night. Kitchen covered in spaghetti, naked baby, two little kids in absolute stitches, and pee all over my carpet. Husband soundly sleeping in his hotel in Europe.

I grabbed the last fistful of noodles, squeezed lids on the tupperware and shoved them into the fridge. My motley crew marched upstairs to scrub off the stains of marinara sauce and stink of urine.

Shortly after that night, my husband’s trip got extended an additional 2 weeks. Instead of coming home tomorrow, as planned, he’s working his cute little arse off in the United Kingdom, wearing a hardhat at job sites, joining conference calls, and eating authentic fish and chips.

So if I seem absent… it’s because I’m parenting solo 36 hours a day, 12 days a week.