I don't think my girls would ever believe that I was a dancer. Imagine their surprise that their mother was not only a ballerina en pointe, but also Highland danced around swords and once did a back flip on a balance beam. For real, no lie. Okay, the swords weren't real.
Most days here I am walking into the kitchen island, almost falling down the stairs, tripping over my own feet and dropping just about everything in sight. Call it getting older, call it multi-tasking, call and try to find out where my gracefulness went.
Last night I tucked both girls into bed (K is now residing full time in her new loft bed in her room, a fact I am both celebrating and mourning). I dressed for bed, and decided to swish a bit of coconut oil as I normally do to try to keep my gums healthy while I avoid the dentist. Usually I do this in the morning, but time hasn't been working with me and normally I swish for about twenty minutes just enough time to read some of my book in bed (aren't you glad I am telling this story)? Wait, it gets better.
Just as I am about to climb into bed, my mouth full of swishing coconut oil, I spy a gigantic beetle bug on the top of my wall. I knew this particuliar wee creature had crawled out of a file cabinet I moved over the weekend and couldn't find. Now I had him. Almost.....he was up really high.
Now we don't kill insects in this house. We are a pacifist house. An all creatures are created equal house. We do kill fruit flies and ticks and mosquitos, but everything else gets shooed out the door. So I needed a chair to grab the beetle bug in a cup to gently guide out of the house. So I went down the stairs to grab the kitchen chair. K being her normal "I must know everything that is going on" self, yelled from her loft bed nest, "What are you doing"? To which I replied, mouth full of oil "I'mgoingtogetachairthereisabigbuginmyroom".
All well and good, had I not knocked over the entire stack of miscellaneous "stuff" we had piled in the hallway when we cleaned out our rooms this past weekend. Bang, bam, bam, tumble, tumble, crash. A multitude of discarded items plunging down the stairs in the dark as I made my way past with the chair.
K again, "What is happening"? Dear one, please don't get out of your loft bed to check on me.
So I yelled with my mouth closed, because you know, God forbid I should spit out the oil. "IKNOCKEDTHESTUFFINTHEHALLWAYDOWNTHESTAIRSWITHTHECHAIR". To which she replied, "WHAT?"
I made my way to the bedroom, knocked the beetle bug in the cup. Carried it downstairs, tossed it out the door, cleaned up all the miscellany on the stairs, went into K's room and (ask me why I still have all this goop in my mouth) opened my mouth halfway and said "BUG. MY ROOM. CHAIR. STAIRS" before managing to have all the coconut oil fly out of my mouth and into my hands.
Off I go to the bathroom, dump the oil in the trash, wash my face and hands. Come out to find Em now in the hallway wondering what's going on and make my way to K's room and tell her as calmly as I'm not feeling what happened.
So here are a few questions:
A. Why didn't I just wait until I was done swishing to remove the bug?
B. Why didn't I just spit the oil out in the first place instead of holding it in that whole time?
C. Why did I feel the need to explain myself to my daughter who was obviously just being nosy and not at all helpful?
D. Where in the heck did my grace and my common sense go?
Needless to say, I was ready for bed and didn't even bother with my book.
