I love my son. And well, I was slightly awake. So, when the door opens and Captain Chaos wanders in, looks warily at his Dad (who, since he works night shift rarely sleeps in bed with me and is an odd sight) and whispered in a loud voice, "Mommy, I need new underwears. They're in the car in my Power Rangers backpack." I was ready for it.
Night time peeing and pooing is truly 99% accidental in kids. They can't help it. And he so rarely does it at night, I can forgive it.
So, he has no roos and his roos are in the car. I am NOT getting dressed to go outside right now at butt crack of dawn in the ghetto. I'd just washed underwear for him. I must love my son. I trotted my feet down to the basement where I stood in my half-dressed glory exposed to anyone that happened to be stalking my basement windows (and living a pretty boring life as a blind person now) rummaging through the dryer looking for roos for a soggy little boy.
The sock monsters have struck with the roos as well now. I washed fifteen pairs two days ago. By my count he's worn nine. He has one pair in his backpack. That should leave five left. Nope. I finally found one pair in the sleeve of a t-shirt and extracted it. By that time, I was already awake, had folded the laundry after rummaging stopped working, and picked out A's clothes for the day.
My soggy little boy, all dry and clean in new roos posed another question. Where would he sleep? His bed was wet. I stuck him in the guest room. It took him nearly ten minutes to transfer all his "friends" - stuffed animals, toy cars, trains, etc...- to the other room.
After all that, as I'm leaving the room after tucking him in, he asks me, "Mommy, can I have a drink? I'm thirsty...."
*facepalm*
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