… everyone is getting their socks and shoes on so that you can walk out the door to church and your four-year old makes one final trip to the bathroom.
As you finish tying the baby’s shoes, you hear a blood-curdling scream and see this same four-year old bolt half-naked into the hallway.
As you try to comprehend what just happened, the four-year old starts talking a mile a minute in high pitch cry-speak. You have no idea what he is saying. Dogs can’t even hear some of those pitches.
Your husband runs upstairs to find the bathroom filled with two inches of water and a flowing toilet.
Once you calm the four-year old, soak up the water with a linen closet’s worth of towels, and control your laughter, you have a little discussion with said four-year old about the amount of toilet paper one should use.
The four-year old is then dressed in the first pants you can grab … plaid shorts (they almost matched his striped shirt) and white socks (we only have so many church clothes, especially socks).
And you still get to church before it starts. Barely.