Toddlers can turn a perfect house in a tipsy turvy space in no time and whoever disagrees has clearly never lived with three at once. Naps routine was gone three weeks ago, and with that, the mornings were long , and afternoons stretched. She had no time for rest not even forty-five minutes of rest time each day. All she wanted was just a few times, a tiny pause for her. Charlize, her daughter, made it look effortless. She would lie on her side, humming softly, flipping through books, or stacking blocks with careful hands. Sometimes she whispered to herself that she just needed a little quiet, and the room seemed almost peaceful.
But her boys were a different story. They were like soda cans ready to explode. The moment the door closed, they were up to a new mission. They had already given her plenty of stories and experiences for the phrase “toddlers are the worst.” Sometimes, with Poop smeared across beds or meltdowns so loud that strangers stopped to stare. And, of course, the infamous soap-in-the-toilet incident that required a brand-new fixture. But last week, they reached a new peak.
As the Rest time began as usual. Feet pounded. Beds creaked. Laughter was everywhere off the walls, high and wild. Then came a sound that made her stomach tighten. Water? No. It was Pee. Everywhere. She stomped in, cleaned what she could, and got everything out of the room, including every toy, blanket, and stuffed animal. Only the beds and a small bookshelf were there. She told the boys that they could each have only two books and closed the door behind her.
She leaned against the hallway wall, and laughter erupted immediately, loud, gleeful, and unstoppable. She pinched the bridge of her nose and thought that she could not survive another eight minutes of this. Eight minutes later, whispers, giggles, scraping sounds, squeals. She opened the door. Her boys looked up with wide grins and told her that they had been decorating with boogers. She froze. Blinked. Couldn’t process it.
Then she saw the real disaster. The bookshelf was toppled. Inside a drawer, something she hadn’t noticed was a pink ink cartridge. It had been cracked open. Pink streaked across the walls, the floor, the bed edges, and even part of the closet door. The room smelled faintly of ink and paper, with a tangy, sharp scent. Her stomach churned as her chest tightened, and she could feel herself standing too still, heart hammering.
She whispered to herself in disbelief that they had done what. She was overwhelmed. Confusion, frustration, and disbelief hit all at once. How had they found it? Why was it even there? None of it mattered. The mess staring at her was bright, impossible to ignore.
She realized something clearly. Letting the boys rest together was a recipe for chaos as they fed off each other’s energy until a new chaos broke out. They needed Separate spaces away from each other, even though it was a whole new challenge, but it was needed. She breathed in deeply and exhaled, then grabbed towels. Her mom handed her magic erasers. Together, they had the boys scrub the walls. She joked that pink didn’t taste good, and one of the boys giggled so hard he almost fell over.
She wasn’t laughing then. Not even close. Later, though, thinking of the wild pink walls and their triumphant little faces with that unstoppable energy, she couldn’t help but smile. Her boys were imaginative, destructive, lovable, unforgettable. Rest time was still a mystery.Chaos was bound to happen. But so was the laughter. She knew that someday she would look back and laugh too, maybe even louder than the boys had that day.
