That'll Teach You

Firstborn's most favorite phrase of late is, "Dat's okay, Mommy. It an ass-e-dent. Ass-e-dents 'appen." Not exactly the phrase you want to walk in the front door to after a morning of special "Mommy Only" time. The first morning in months I'd been childless, save the two funerals within ten days I attended a few, short weeks ago.
This morning was much more special for a Mommy Moment given Hubby's work schedule of late and the personal trauma I've been doing my best to work through with a level head. Not only had I not had any time away from the kids most of the summer, I had barely seen my husband. When he was home he was nearly comatose from what I can only assume was his employer's creative way of trying to "off" him by over scheduling him in such a way that could only be described as an age old, tried and true, Inquisition technique.
I left the house early. Not only was I looking forward to my much overdue appointment to have my hair done at the local beauty college, but I had household errands to run before and after said appointment. The appointment ran late, much later than expected. That is one of the drawbacks to having a student service your hair. Sometimes they are so eager to do a great job that they get lost in the details and it takes a quite a long time.
Finally, five hours later, I pulled into our drive. I contemplated sitting in the Mommymobile for a few more songs to make the most of it, but my conscience wouldn't allow it. This was a single day off for Hubby after an almost illegal weekend work schedule. I knew it was time to go in and rescue him. He needed his alone time just as much, if not more than I did. This is what I walked in to.
I pushed the door open and stepped 1 1/2 steps inside. Firstborn runs up to me with a "forlorn and desolate outlook on life" look plastered upon his face, presumably due to my extremely long absence. The first words out of his mouth are, "Mommy, I sorr-wee 'bout your bedroom. Ass-e-dents 'appen. An', I wub (love) uo (you), sooo much. Uo (you) my berry best friend in da ho(whole) wide world, ebry (every) day, all day wong (long).
Immediately, my equilibrium shifted, as well as my "as close to Sivananda as I'm getting till these kids are both in school", peace and mentality.
"Accidents happen? Exactly what happened in my bedroom? Please, show me."
Firstborn took me by my ever so reluctant hand and led me in the direction of the oh, so never private bedroom Hubby and I share.
"What's that smell?" , as I sniffed, sniffed, sniffed from object to object. It wasn't until I put my nose to the carpet that my pulse began to beat much faster.
No. No. NO. NO!
Before I could further my questioning in the certain direction I knew it to be going, Hubby came up behind me to fill me in.
It seems Firstborn had lured Secondborn into our bedroom. He had managed to unstick my nightstand drawer. An irritation of always having to finesse to obtain admittance to this quircky thing, to a safeguard I had always counted on, this drawer was like a combo lock the likes I'd never seen before. Yet, he'd pried it open. Once open, he pulled out all the contents from nail files, magazines and books, including 1-2-3 Magic (a parental must have), to my brand new bottle of Nivea moisturizer.
The details thereafter are fuzzy. The best Hubby and I can do are piece together what we do know. This is what we know. When Hubby discovered the two in our bedroom, there was only one step between them and the door that was not saturated with moisturizer. Secondborn was covered entirely in said moisturizer. Firstborn was adorned with Hubby's brand new, white gold with yellow gold inlay, high-end, name brand, employer awarded for 10 years of excellent service, watch and a generous helping of Nivea moisturizer. I walked into the room wearing flip flops. I walked out of the room nearly breaking my neck as my feet met the laminate wood flooring in our hallway.
Welcome home, Mommy. welcome home. That'll teach you.