Monday, May 3, 2010

Would You Like to Check That?

We can't know the future.  But I know one thing for certain about Jack's future:  If I'm able, I will tell this story at his rehearsal dinner.

You parents out there will be very familiar with The Silence.  It's that sudden space of time where you hear... nothing.  Usually kids bring with them this associated noise, and the low din is always with you.  Always.  You eventually learn to ignore it.  And then, suddenly, it's gone, and its absence alone is conspicuous.

Jack was playing this weekend in our flop house/flat, and he had gone into the tiny little room where his Pack 'n Play is squeezed between the wall and the singolo*.  And he gets on the bed, and plays with books, and finds a toy or two, and looks for trouble in whatever way he can.  In the room, there's also the black suitcase that someone bought me for Christmas a few years back.  Of course, Majesty appropriated it for his use, so I'm back to using the tattered blue Serac backpack that I dragged around Europe and Mexico a decade ago.

Anyway, Jack likes to sit in the suitcase.  He calls it a boat.  He opens it.  He closes it.  He opens it.  He gets in.  He gets out.  He does it all over again.  It's very diverting.  (The picture above documents this phenomenon.)

So we hear The Silence.  And your first instinct is to get up and get a better vantage point so you can see what crimes they're committing they're up to.  Beebee (who's helping with childcare while we wander around like Bedouins) strolls in there, and Jack's ah, divested himself of his diaper, and is running around in a Japanese The Empire Strikes Back shirt, a huge grin... and well, that's pretty much it.

The catch of course was that the diaper was somewhat less than clean, you might say.  So little brown footprints are scattered here and there, and Our Hero is whisked away (at arms' length) to a hot bath.  Two of them, in fact; we did a rinse and a spin cycle.

The other catch is that after everything is cleaned up, there's still that smell.  When there shouldn't be.  You know the one.  I hear Beebee say, "OH.  MY.  GOODNESS."  Evidently, upon opening the black suitcase, there's a rather large present tucked away for us.  H.M. enters the fray, and Beebee hands her a wet washcloth with the following admonition:

"Here you go, Mommy."

I tried to look busy drying the hardened criminal baby off.  I like my old blue backpack just fine now, thank you very much.  By the by, if you ever see me eBay anything in the way of black carry-on luggage, skip it.

E.C. would like to offer profuse thanks to H.M., et al for letting him go take a relentless sonic beating from Jack White and The Dead Weather at The House of Blues on Saturday.  Awesome.  Just awesome.

*Think an overly stuffed cot.  Popular in the E.U.


Courtney Robertson said...

Love it!! We've had a few accidents on the wood floors after baths when Jack is running around sans diaper... but they've only left... uh, puddles. This story definitely trumps the "pee in the playhouse" drama of last week. :)

Bethany said...

This left me laughing quite a bit!!

Jennifer Reinsch said...

Ooh, yuck. I would have just thrown the suitcase away. (Yes, I am a wimp.)

Jessica said...

We are also familiar with The Silence, which is usually followed by a small voice calling, "Help! Stuck!" Thankfully no brown footprints yet.

Donna said...

Oh.My.Goodness. Oh! Yuck! I would have freaked out- I'm going on three kids now and I've never had to deal with "brown" in the home. I'm sure it's a matter of time- I love Beebee handing the washcloth to mommy. Hilarious! By the way, congratulations on selling your house in this crazy economy! AND there are no words for how sad (tears shed) we were when we read about precious, dear, loving FMB. So, so sorry. What a month you've had.

Cindy Deister said...

Hey, it's a good sign that he didn't want it on HIMSELF. That's part of growing up. Now to make the mental switch from suitcase to potty. ;)