I’ve talked about how I don’t like rodents.
But now I’m starting to wonder if the house is possessed.
It’s little things here and there…stuff moved around, missing.
Now, before you dismiss it as, “Well, duh, you have kids!” let me add: the children deny all responsibility.
So, since it couldn’t possibly be that they’re lying liars who lie, preparing for a future as either lawyers or politicians, the only reasonable solution is that the house is haunted. Or possessed.
Which, frankly, is less frightening than the thought of one of my kids being a politician.
Plus, the stuff that gets rearranged, or goes MIA isn’t always high on the kid appeal scale. Like, WHERE ARE ALL THE SPOONS? And the pens, pencils, crayons, pencil crayons…for the amount I’ve bought and brought into the house, we should be wading in the damn things, and yet, scrounging up one or two is a Herculean task. Every time.
The kids swear they don’t eat them. I’ve asked. And, since two of them are still in diapers, I know that they’re innocent of ingestion.
Then there’s tea towels. Some folks call them ‘dish cloths’, but around here, ‘dish cloths’ is what you use to wash the dishes, not dry them.
I’ve bought enough of those suckers to use as linen wraps for every mummy that ever was in Egypt, and I still can’t find those on a regular basis either.
And my socks.
I love me some ‘Muppet Feet’ socks. Fuzzy and warm. Danged if I can find them either. I’d suspect Diva of pilfering them, but then I’d see her WEARING them, and that never happens. They just…vanish.
Actually, the missing sock thing is pretty much everyone in the family. Except Wolf. I suspect there’s something about his feet that nobody wants to touch his socks, ever.
But, today confirms my suspicions about possession.
Walked into the living room to discover both of the Terror Toddlers happily playing with their wooden train track, and race car track.
No, that’s not the possession part. That’s more of a miracle part.
So, they’re happily playing…and there’s a huge freaking PUDDLE right beside them.
Wolf swears it wasn’t there 30 seconds before, when he was setting up the track.
Both boys diapers were dry.
No cups, bottles, or busted pipes to be found.
Just…a puddle of wet.
“What the heck is it?” I asked Wolf.
“I don’t know. Smell it.” he suggested.
“I’m not smelling that. I’m not stupid enough to stick my face close to mystery anything in this house.”
Besides, does ghost pee have a smell? Cause that’s what I’m thinking it is. Would make sense.
With two toddlers in the house, why wouldn’t we get a ghost that needs potty training too?