Dear Preschool, I Miss You.

Preschool is over. The various grandparents we hosted for a week have gone home. What's left? A really long time until preschool starts again in September. I didn't realize how much difference it made to these two goons, but good grief! I know a couple of people who need constant age-appropriate engagement and preferable challenge or they get REALLY snarky. Well, that and the lack of sleep from the last week. And the sugar intake. And a possibly approaching full moon? There was definitely a Tuesday involved.

When I say age-appropriate engagement, this does not apparently include the vacuum cleaner or a trip to Kroger. Or mommy checking her email. Or bathing.

Just a few snippets of today:

We had plans to meet at a friend's pool at 10. At 9, I decided that the world at large would be better off if I shaved my legs. Heaven forbid I take a 5 minute shower. As I began the left leg, Pigpen climbed with purpose into the (deep) bathtub. Sadly, on the descent he lost footing (said footing being on the wall, of course) and crashed to the floor of the tub. Wailing and a puffy lip resulted. As I began my right leg, he decided he was over Injury #1 and climbed up on my bed. Still a crib-dweller by choice, he firmly believes that beds are trampolines. As I was toweling off, he saw me coming and scurried to get down from the bed. Unfortunately, he hurried and again lost footing, thus sliding haphazardly off the side of the bed and getting his ear caught by the corner of my nightstand. More wailing ensued. Ear somewhat bruised.

I dared to get dressed in my bathing suit. As I attempted to debate with myself just how much of my posterior was hanging out of my bottoms, I heard the familiar sounds of scrappin'. Fighting. Wrastlin'. A scuffle, if you will. I pulled the dueling parties away from one another and inquired as to the cause of the disagreement. "He was poking me in the eye with hangnail sticks, so I hit him!" shouted Piglet indignantly. Well, I can't say I blame him there. Hangnail sticks being emory boards for you civilized people. I hastily threw on a cover up and dragged them out of my room.

Time to prepare for the pool. I sent Piglet to his room to put on trunks. I gave Pigpen his Crocs to put on. I busied myself with stocking the pool bag with water, copious snacks, towels and sunscreen. "Mommy? Can I have a snack?" Piglet asked. About to remind him that we JUST ate breakfast, I turn around to find him completely nude. Again. "Where are your clothes? Why aren't you dressed? Do you know we're LEAVING?" I gestured wildly, miming driving a car, attempting to communicate with his caveman persona. "Can I have raisins?" GAH!! I threw him his clothes - again - and told him I only talked to people of the clothed variety.

I turned to Pigpen, whom I was relatively confident would be dressed. He sat in the floor, chewing heartily on his Croc. OH MY LORD. "Dog poop! Yuck!" I tried to simplify it to his level. "Poo poo in potty?" he grinned hopefully. He likes to flush. Not to actually produce anything, just to flush. Sigh. I turned to check on Piglet's progress. He had his trunks on, though backwards. "Your drawstring is on the back. It looks like a tail," I advised Piglet. "I like it," he grunted as he put his shirt on backwards to match. Fine. Whatever. We were ten degrees of late and I was ready to get in the car.

I headed for the door. There, I found Pigpen carrying Gus' water bowl to the sink. The bowl was already full of water, or at least it was until he spilled it all over the kitchen. "Mess! Mess!" he squealed gleefully. Snatching the bowl from his hands, I gave him two rags and ordered immediate clean up duties. He made a bigger mess cleaning up and then ran away, rags in hand. "Trash! Trash!" he chanted as he baby-jogged to the toilet and attempted to flush the rags away.

Piglet was missing. Piglet reappeared from upstairs. He was now wearing two pairs of trunks and a newborn swim hat which did not begin to cover even 1/8 of his ginormous basketball head. He grinned. In the manner of one herding cats, I somehow shooed them to the car grabbing my massive pool bag, purse, phone, water cups, keys, and my sanity (mostly) on the way. Waiting his turn to climb into the car, Pigpen discovered a month old pretzel on the floor. He ate it. I let him.

The rest of the day went pretty much the same way, culminating in Piglet giving Pigpen a black eye with a Little Tikes golf club just before dinner. Tomorrow, we're going to child care. Er, I mean, the gym.