Making a choice.

With eyes still droopy from sleep, I squinted near-sightedly at the clock in my bedroom as I sipped my coffee. Eight o'clock. Now is the time to strike, I thought, sitting the still steaming cup on the desk by the computer. Quieter than a ferret, I slunk down the hall and peered cautiously around the corner of the living room.

There, in front of the "boob tube" sat my two unsuspecting victims, Seth and Robert, engrossed in Mr. Rogers. Ah yes. . .Mr. Rogers. . .little do children know he worked for us. With fox-like cunning, he held their attention to the television, while we, the parents, were able to indulge in the forbidden fruits such as an uninterupted bath, or the occasional unshared chocolate bar. Oh whoa is the parent whose child rails against the distraction of PBS or Discovery Kids.

As silent as death, I scurried down the hallway to the bathroom. I put a Kenny G CD in the player, lit the two candles on the rim of the tub, and closed my eyes and breathed in the heavenly scent as it wafted around the bathroom. I prepared a hot steamy bath with apple-scented bath salts, slipped off my PJ's and into the soothing waters. I needed this after the past weekend and the boys antics. The boys. . .I sighed and sank deeper in the water, reflecting on the events that had transpired.

They had both been wound up tighter than tops when we arrived back home from town on Friday. Always the bundle of energy, Robert ran to the small forest-green colored love seat, climbed onto the arm, and before I could blink, swung off the couch like Tarzan, using the miniblind cord. While I reprimanded Robert, Seth, otherwise known as the-walking-stomach-who-looks-and-talks-like-a-boy, sifted through the grocery bags until he found the cereal bars that came free with my coffee purchase.

"Let's go brother," he yelled to Robert. "There's a cereal bar here with your name on it. A whirlwind, in the form of my toddler, zipped past me and joined his brother in their room with the coveted box of bars. A few minutes later, the evidence was left in the trash can, without even the whisper of a crumb for me to nibble on. Grr. (BTW There were only 5 to a box)

After having lulled me into a false sense of security by being good on Saturday, my toddler hit on Sunday with an attack Ceasar would have been envious of. My hubby was going to be away, leaving me alone with the boys. I thought I would have all afternoon to write, was I wrong.

That afternoon, Robert discovered how to get in the pantry. After slaving over a manuscript for an hour, I tottered into the kitchen for a drink, my poison that day: Coke Zero. As I reached for the door of the pantry, I happened to look down and see a trail of white powder-like substance; with tiny footprints in the middle of it. This can't be good.

I followed the trail to the living room; there, in the middle of my Oriental carpet was a mound of flour with hazel eyes. The flour and I stared long and hard at each other until the mound clapped its hands together and cheered, "Yay Robert!"

I had two choices; either I could scold and cry, or I could laugh and treasure the moment forever in my heart. After all, they're only little once, and after these walls cease to ring with childish laughter, I will have the memory of that wonderful moment, and the house won't seem quite as empty.