Revenge Is Golden

I awoke that morning to the sound of little feet running through the house. I bolted up in bed. See, that wasn't the normal wake-up routine. Typically, when my son woke up, he would come straight to my room and stand over me on my side of the bed mouth-breathing heavily, eyes creepily wide, and half toddler-whisper/half pant a "Good morning, Mama...."

It looked a little something like this:

But, on that particular morning there was no toddler creepshow. There was only the sound of feet running which could have meant complete and total destruction would await me when I stepped into the living room. In those first half-asleep moments, I imagined a horrorfest of overturned trash cans, a kitchen full of spilled milk and condiments, and a floor full of legos I would have to cross like hot burning coals in order to stop the little maniac from demolishing the place to the ground. 

When I walked out the bedroom door, however, things were eerily quiet and, at first glance, there was not a single thing out of place nor a child to in sight. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck. is all a mother can think in times like these. When you know how hellbent on destruction your child can be yet he suddenly plays the role of the perfect angel, you have to be skeptical. Giving him the benefit of the doubt has proven you wrong so many times before...

I started looking around the house inspecting everything for any signs of jelly hand prints, chocolate milk spills, hair cut with scissors I certainly don't think I left out but who knows, the candy hidden away in the pantry, poop...something was afoot, and I was determined to track it down. 

It didn't take long. 

After inspecting most of the living room and kitchen, I rounded the corner to check out the pantry and found a huge yellow puddle in  and around the cat's bowl. 

I called to the kid, my wise-cracking 3 year old, and asked what that mess could possibly be. 

Him: Looks like pee. The cat must've done it. 

Me: That's an awful lot of pee. 

Him: He drinks a lot. 

Me: I don't think he could have possibly drank enough to fill up that bowl and get it all over the floor. He's not that big. At that point, I raised my eyebrows and gave him the look. The mom look that says I know some shit just went down that I'm not going to be happy about, and it would be best if he would just tell the truth and get it over with. That look. It almost always worked when he was that age. 

Him: Well, he did it in my bathtub first!

My 3 year old revenge-peed in the cat's bowl. 

This story was part of a link up with Indecisively Blogging! You can find her post and others' here: