Reminiscent are the days that my two cohorts flooded my downstairs bath after continually flushing the potty while depositing an entire roll of toilet paper, or the day when my little General lathered himself with a full tube of Destin, because he needed lotion for his dry skin, or the day when the Tank decided to stoke the fire with his legos. All incidents preceded the word “Uh-oh.”
With three toddlers under one roof, not many days pass without some kind of catastrophe, which leads to “uh-oh.” So, why would today be any different? I was in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard one of my mischievous off-spring utter, “Uh-oh!” from the bathroom. I just bowed my head and said a quick prayer, not for me, but for him. Then I’d headed to the bathroom to see what the damage was.
When I opened the door, the boy before me didn’t look like my usual grinning son. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, waiting to be plowed over with punishment. Looking at him I noticed that the Tank’s arms were soaked up to his elbow and the toilet next to him no longer had a seat on it.
In the sternest voice I could muster up, I asked, “What happened?”
Instantly my son started crying and whimpered, “the toilet bit me!”
I dried the tears from my son’s face then proceeded to the floor, when the phone rang. It was my Dad. So naturally I shared the mishap, in hopes to get some parental guidance and support. Instead, I got an earful of laughter and a brief sentiment from my father, “Ah, payback for all the rotten things that you kids did to your mother and me when you were little!”
Yes, “Uh-oh” indeed.