The Final Scan.

Saturday morning, Jeff woke up to find that his wallet, which had sat on the bedside table, had been emptied.  He scurried around, looking for the missing cards... loudly asking Olive where she put them.  I say "loudly" because, even though both girls were sitting on top of me, I was still trying to sleep.  Unsuccessfully.

He finally realized that Olive had stuffed them all under the door the leads down the stairs.  Since she had been saying "milk" and "eat" as she did it, I imagine she was trying to pay the door to bring her a sippy cup and a Nutrigrain bar.

I took this opportunity to explain to Jeff, again, why I do a final scan of the house before I go to bed.  It's not because I am just uptight or because I just want to avoid laying down in a comfortable bed for a few more minutes.  I do it because you have to.  Each night I look around... move this screwdriver to the drawer.... close the bathroom door... scoot the computer chair away from the desk.  I am a zombie in the morning, so I need to take this time of coherent thought to prevent disaster at 7am.  A final scan would have moved that wallet. 

A final scan would have also helped tonight.

Tonight,I passed the parental reins to Jeff and headed out to do farm work after dinner.  I sported my awesome purple galoshes that I snagged at Target for $6 and knocked out a lot of things that I have been wanting to do for a while.  I soaked all of the chicken feeders and waterers in bleach water, cleaned out the pet carriers where various chickens and baby goats had slept (and pooped), moved limbs, moved the grain to a different container, relocated the milking stand and cleaned out the stall.  I worked until well after dark... and the only thing left on my "wanted to do" list was to scrape out and disinfect the chicken coop.

While I was out enjoying the fall night despite the poo, Jeff had bathed the girls, put them in their pj's, hopefully brushed their teeth, and put them both to bed.  He came out and we chatted while I finished up.  A few minutes went by and Mom came out.  It seems that Olive was fussy.  Not crying, but just fussy.  She wanted to know what she should do... go and sooth her or just see what plays out.  I was of the opinion that, if she is just being intermittently fussy, it would be best to just leave her for a bit.  She wasn't disturbing Ivey, so she would probably bore and just go to sleep.

Jeff and I went and checked out the progress that was made on the house next door (the house where we will hopefully be living pretty soon).  When we came back in, I marched up to the shower.  Everything seemed nice and calm.  No more whining from the girls' room.  It seems there was more going on in that room than it appeared. 

Jeff came in and simply said to me, "Just don't ask dads to do things."  I sighed.  What on Earth could it be this time?

While we were meandering around in the rest of the house, Mom was inside the girls' room.  Doing damage control.  She did decide to go and check on Olive. When Olive is ready to get out of her room, she takes her blanket, her bapie (paci) and her kitty cat pillow pet, and camps out at her door.  Tapping and knocking.  Last night, she had fallen asleep behind the door.  I had to slowly push her along enough to get into the room and then relocate her sweet self.  When Mom entered the room tonight, that's where Olive was.  Right behind the door.  Mom reached down to pick her up and Olive slipped right through her hands.  Yes.  She was slippery.  It probably had something to do with the bottle of shampoo on the floor.

My silly little girl had gone back into the bathroom, retrieved the shampoo bottle, and covered herself in it until it began to dry on her chubby thighs, and she was completely exhausted and miserable.  Mom moved her to the sink and rinsed her entire body, thinking the bath tub would be moving in the wrong direction.. and may wake Ivey.  Olive was happy, but exhausted.  Now, the super clean girl is resting peacefully, in new dry pj's.  Maybe, just maybe, the wallet/shampoo combo of the last three days will drive home the "final scan" concept to my well meaning husband.  Maybe.  Maybe I'll leave a glass of red wine next to the laptop, head to bed early, and test that theory.  Or, maybe not.