Zen and the art of toilet cleaning

Transitioning to the world of toddler co-op and upped mama work hours has made it a tricky week. Not horrible, not exasperating, not out of control. Just tricky.

In an effort to calm that trickiness on Friday, I decided Lil E and I would skip our 9 a.m. Wiggleworms music class and instead, try to make it to the 10 a.m. class. Since we were happily in our jammies at 9:30, nibbling on "peopoh cereaoh" and playing Lil E's version of wooden screwdriver-Superball golf, I opted to try to make the 11 a.m. class instead.

Making that one little decision - not to hurry, not to get all worked up - was like a sigh of relief for the last day of our week. We took it easy.

And Lil E complied, happily helping me search for a dropped earring and bringing me things to pack into his diaper bag. In an unprecendented move, he brushed his teeth - alone - for ten minutes, while I stood behind him, brushing my own teeth and pulling my hair into a neater-than-usual ponytail.

I was amazed. We were, like, so going with the flow.

So much so that I pulled out my make-up case to get pretty for the hour of Old MacDonald and You Walk and You Walk and You Walk and You Stop ahead.

Lil E squealed. He loves my make-up case. It is like the Mommy version of a Little People village, full of colorful, tiny things to twist and shake and try out. The make-up I use is comprised of little pots of powders and shadows that fit perfectly in his palms, and in the past, this has been an ideal distraction while I look at the mirror for a moment or two.

"I want a brush!" he yelled out and I handed him the big one I wasn't yet using.

"I like ano-er sumping!" he yelled out and so I handed him one of those delightful pots of glittery powder.

I looked to the mirror with my concealer in hand. For a moment. Just for a moment. When I looked down in front of me, Lil E was pouring that powder in a precise pile on the bathroom sink.

Oh no! I tried to be calm in spite of that cha-ching cha-ching in my head as the pot emptied on, of all things, the potty Lil E was standing on.

Zen, Zen, I reminded myself, swiftly removing Lil E and the grainy, glittery, quickly-staining bronzing powder from all of the white surfaces around us.

"Here, here," I said, handing him the mascara with one hand while scrubbing tile with baby wipes with the other hand.

He quickly unscrewed the top and pulled out the wand.

"Ooh! A bat!" he said. How could I have forgotten that that he can unscrew, uncap and unplug now? I took the mascara back swiftly. How could I have forgotten that?

"But I need the brush, Mommyy-yyyy!"

He was all sing-songy and sweet and having no idea that the lady at counter in my head was tsk-tsking me for letting my little one make toys of cosmetics. I handed him the brush.

He was happy and I got back to the business of eye liner.

"Mommy, mommy!"

"Yes, boo?" I asked while I used that bat to quickly clump on some length and curl to my lashes.

"Mommy, I cleaning the toiyet!"

"Oh good, honey! I --" and then I saw that he was cleaning the toilet. With my brush. With my $30 blush brush.

Even in the crevices between the tank and the lid. Even down by the base and carefully around the little bolts and flushy thingy. Good, good.

I looked away just for a moment to rifle through my bag. There was nothing left to do but hand him another brush and get back to my lip gloss.

"Mommy, now I cleaning da floor! It needs it!"

"Yup, it does," I said, applying a nice, even second coat of Pink Diamonds. "Go crazy, babe."

"I going crazy cleaning da floor and da toiyet!" he giggled.

Soon after, I ushered us off to music. Me pretty, he happy, bathroom bronzed and potties shiny.

On a late Friday morning, it was all good.