I've been in work mode the last two days. The reason: Dane and I are going on our first ever post-Rye adult vacation on Friday, and before we go, I feel the need to get my ducks in a row, as my mother-in-law would say.
That means: vacuuming, sweeping, laundry, dusting, stocking up on cat food and people food and toothpaste and anything else I might possibly need when we're not even here this weekend.
At work, too, I'm like this. Efficient, quick, even prolific is what I'm aiming for even more this week. The bottom line: I just really really don't want to have work hanging over my head. I don't even want to have to cram it in and be all stressed like I probably will be anyway Thursday afternoon.
So last night, well on my taskmaster way, I washed all of Rye's clothes, including the sheets on his bed and his jammies and his blankie that you can only wash when you sneak it away from him (which means we only wash it about every other week).
And then last night around 2 in the morning, I heard him whimper. And then I heard him open the door to his room and pad down the stairs and through the dark into our room. And then he stood by my bed and said, "Mommy, my pants are wet."
And they were very wet and he was shivering and sad. And I got him cleaned up and changed and then he slept the rest of the night with us.
It was not a big deal at all. And accidents happen to everyone, of course.
But here's the thing: Rye never wets the bed. Like maybe once before.
So. Of course, it happens the very night I give him clean sheets and blankets and even a clean blankie. He had had a bath, too.
I think these things don't just happen.
(Yes, I did wash again today, blankie included).