Looks can be deceiving

They are cute, aren't they? Cora with her grown up haircut, and Claire with her chubby cheeks. Yes, cute. But don't let that fool you. They are sneaky and devious. I'm pretty sure, what I believe to be a nice hour of sisterly bonding in the playroom, is in fact a planning session for a full-scale attack of naughtiness.

It has to be orchestrated. How can something so spontaneous reek such havoc on my life? Yep. I'm certain they coordinate, have a full set of prearranged signals and have a minute by minute playbook. With that in mind, this is how I believe the other day unfolded. (please note that Mark was out of town, and I had wrecked my ankle in class the day before, so I could barely walk-and because my left knee has yet to completely heal from when I tore my meniscus, screwing up my right ankle was not such a great idea!)

Claire, knowing her part in the plan, began the morning by dumping an entire box of cereal on the kitchen floor (in her defense, she views this as the easiest way to consume the most cereal in the shortest amount of time). Then she spent the remainder of the 15 minutes allotted for dress and prep in the morning in slow motion. She also thought it would be hilarious to take off the socks and shoes and coat I had just put on her. She was holding up her end of the misbehaving bargain quite brilliantly.

But not to be outdone by her younger sister, Cora capped the morning off with a bang (okay so it was more like an explosion, but bang just sounded better). She has had a bit of a cough for the last few days, but has shown no other signs of sickness. I decided she was well enough to head to the gym daycare while I taught my morning class (in my gimpy state it was less teaching and demonstrating, than yelling and ordering). But, out of respect for the other kiddos at the gym who would probably rather not get hacked all over, I decided to give her a dose of cough syrup before we headed out the door.

At this point, everyone was ready to go. Claire had been redressed, and I was just going to syringe a teaspoonful full of the delicious grape flavored cure-all into Cora's mouth and we would be on our way. Perfect plan until Claire flashed the predetermined signal at Cora letting her know it was her turn. So, with a mouthful of sticky syrup, she spit. And spit. And spit. She spit until every last drop of the purple goo had exploded out onto her shirt, her pants, her shoes, my legs, Claire's hair and a good portion of the kitchen floor. Mission accomplished.

Fast forward through a day of similar stunts and we find ourselves at bedtime. I left Claire, fully clothed in a fresh diaper and PJs, jumping on Cora's bed (if you are not judging me yet, here's your chance) while I went to the laundry room to retrieve the bottom half of Cora's favorite PJs (I am certain Cora's insistence on having that particular pair of pants was perfectly scripted; allowing Claire ample time for her next move). I returned to find a now diaperless child peeing, midstream, on top of Cora's comforter. By the time I swooped her up, with serious thoughts of rubbing her nose in it (because I do not have any mangy mutts, I have to trust my fuzzy memory of this odd practice for housebreaking dogs), the fresh urine had soaked through the sheets and into the mattress. Of course.
I re-diapered Claire. Then I stripped the bed down and, using a spare set of sheets and Cora's old comforter, remade her bed. My mistake was transporting Cora's pee-soaked comforter to the laundry room, giving Claire a small window of opportunity to rid herself of her new diaper and poop, yes poop, on the spare comforter.
It was at this point I realized this sort of behavior has become the norm. Because although furious, my thoughts did not immediately go to boarding schools or Googling black market prices for 2-year-olds, but rather I was racking my brain for a 3rd comforter alternative for Cora's bed.

Don't get me wrong. I react, discipline, over-react and over-discipline my children almost daily (case in point, I hurled the medicine syringe across the kitchen after Cora's earlier medicine incident, spreading the remnants across the only remaining clean portion of the kitchen-hey if you can't beat em, join em). So my calmness almost concerned me. Was this an indication of things to come? Had I become so jaded by their antics that a double dose of Claire at her best did not send me into a fit of rage? Or was I just so exhausted by the day's previous helpings of mischief that I didn't have the energy to care.

My vote would be for a little of both. A good night sleep has allowed for some clarity, and rest assured, you will not see me driving the get-a-way car while Cora and Claire tag some building downtown with spray paint they have knocked off from the local hardware store. But, I do think after a few years of typical toddler/preschooler/4-going-on-16 year old behavior, my tolerance levels are a bit higher most days (emphasis on MOST days). Good thing too, because I am sure the plotting and organizing will continue, and I will face day after day after day like the one above.