Trust the Science

It had been a Lou Day. 

Lou is almost two and a half years old and in those 30ish months of his life, the definition of a Lou Day has changed. 

It used to mean a day where he was colicky, cried a lot, and didn’t nap. 

Now it means he talks all day long and makes messes everywhere he goes.

And not your standard kid mess where they dump out Legos and puzzles and scribble on the walls with markers. I’m used to that. I’ve been enduring that for almost 10 years now.

I’m talking messes that leave me wondering “where did he find pliers?” or “why is he covered in ashes?” or “what is this screw from?”

And granted, I don’t supervise him as well as I did Nate and Sam. Tess never needed supervision because she’s perfect. Moody and irrational, yes. But otherwise perfect. 

But Lou’s toddler days find me at a different stage of life. I’m old. I’m tired. And I’m not as charmed by the toddler antics as I was the first few times. 

We don’t sit together and do puzzles or build Lego houses or construct towns on his train table. Okay, sometimes we do, but mostly I let him outside when I let the dogs out in the morning and he comes in for meals or an occasional diaper change. I peer outside every hour or so just to make sure he hasn’t crawled through the fence to the neighbor’s yard or disassembled the swingset. 

On rainy days or days that the weatherman has deemed “frigid,” I send him to the basement. Or he busies himself in the living room. Or the kitchen. Or Nate and Sam’s room. And again, he comes up for meals and occasional diaper changes. 

I should mention that Tess is only in school three days a week and she does a great job of playing with Lou and keeping him safe.

Meanwhile Tighe and I are working. Neither one of us understands what the other one does, but we have laptops and phones, so we look busy. Sometimes I sneak into Tighe’s office and print something out. 

But when we poke our heads up from our screens, we usually discover Lou has made a mess. 

On Monday, the day that I deemed a Lou Day, I walked into the kitchen just before lunch to find about 12 gum wrappers on the floor, a spilled bottle of bubbles, and three plungers in the center of the room.

Oh, and a smiling Lou. He held up the plungers with pride, “Look, Mom! I found these!”

If there’s one thing I don’t want in the room where I store and prepare food, it’s tools that have delved into porcelain bowls of feces.

“Where did you get these?”

“I got them down there,” he said, pointing to the basement. I have to admire his enthusiasm.

“Okay, well they don’t belong in the kitchen, so let’s put them back.”

“Oh, they not go in the kitchen?” 

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

He’s always so sincere.

“Mom, call me worker.” I guess this is his Marxist proletariat phase. 

“Okay, worker. Can you please put the plungers back in the basement?”

“Okay, mom.”

He did as he was told and returned to the kitchen while I cleaned up the gum wrappers and laid some paper towels on top of the bubble spill.

“Thank you, Lou.”

“No. Say ‘thank you worker.’”

“Okay. Thank you, worker.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.”

I mean, he really is so sweet. It’s hard to be mad at him.

So I wasn’t.

Until a few moments later, when, closing all the drawers and cabinets he had opened, I discovered another spill. 

He had squirted a bottle of sunscreen—like the good, expensive kind that doesn’t clog pores or cause cancer—into the drawer. 

The drawer where we keep car keys and my wallet and the extra clicker for the driveway gate and a small bowl of miscellaneous screws and allen wrenches and our never ending supply of gift cards.

Yeah, okay, it’s a junk drawer.

But it’s still annoying.

My favorite sunscreen that I rely on heavily during lacrosse season.

So, as I wiped the thick white lotion off of each gift card and a pair of heavy-duty kitchen shears I’d actually ever seen before, I yelled at him.

“Why? Why did you do this?”

“Betause I did that.” ← Not a typo, that’s how he says ‘because.’ He’s so adorable.

“Okay, well you made a big mess in here!”

“Oh. I made mess?  Sorry, Mom.”

“That’s okay, Lou.”

“No. Say ‘that’s okay worker.’”

“That’s okay, worker.”

He spent the rest of early afternoon eating his lunch—with pliers—opening and shutting the back door to talk to the dogs, rearranging the contents of the kitchen cabinets, spilling his milk, and poking around in the fire pit on the patio with a stick. A stick he later brought inside. 

By naptime, we were both exhausted. As usual.

He truly welcomes his nap every day. He earns that rest. 

I, meanwhile, finished some laundry, sent some emails, updated a spreadsheet or two, and prepared myself to head to lacrosse practice. 

Because yes, I’m still coaching lacrosse. 

But when I went to grab my keys from the drawer—you know, the lotiony one—they were gone!

And of course, I was already late. Gathering my mittens, scarf, hat, and handwarmers takes a bit of time.

I rummaged around for a few minutes, checking and rechecking the basket of masks that sits on the counter above the drawer, but alas, no keys.

“Lou took my keys!” I called out to Tighe, frustrated and flustered. I really hate being late.

Lou and Tess had both been carrying around a spare set of keys that go to nothing lately, and since he was in that drawer earlier, I knew it was him.

“What?” Tighe called back from his office.

I grabbed the extra set of keys that remained in the drawer and dashed out to the car. 

When I returned home just before dinner, the house was in shambles as expected. Homework was strewn about the table, markers were all over the dining room floor, and all four kids were taking turns sledding down the plush carpeting on the basement steps. On an actual sled. 

It was loud and chaotic.

“If you see my car keys anywhere, please let me know!” I yelled into the basement.

“What?”

“Look for my car keys!”

“Why?”

“Because they’re missing! Lou stole them!”

“Lou! Give Erin her keys back!”  Nate loves a chance to reprimand anyone else.

No time to look for them myself. I was minutes away from a zoom meeting, so I was hurrying to make dinner, eat dinner, clean up, and make the next day’s lunches. Followed by the bedtime routine. 

Later, as I was rocking Lou in the dark, I whispered in his ear, “Lou, where did you put my keys?”

“Um…” 

I could tell he was really thinking. But he also looked a tad confused.

“In the box,” he replied.

I returned to a quiet first floor and began my hunt. I started with anything he might call a box. Drawers, tupperwares, the shoe basket under the coat rack, the cleat basket which is next to the shoe basket, the basket where we keep hats and mittens and gloves, and various bins of toys in the basement.

At one point I did find a half-eaten tortilla in the basement toybox. It was solid as a rock, but didn’t have any mold so it couldn’t have been that old. I was still full from dinner, though, so I threw it away. 

I also checked under the stove (per my sister-in-law’s suggestion), in the fridge and freezer (per my other sister-in-law’s suggestion), in the floor vents (per my brother’s suggestion), and outside on the patio. 

I even checked inside the blender and the food processor, which are two kitchen appliances that he loves to fiddle with.

I stood in the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling and collecting my thoughts. I was tired and annoyed, but knew I needed to piece the day back together to figure out where he’d been and where he put them.

Think like Lou.

I recalled first thing that morning when Nate asked me to unlock my car so he could get his favorite hat out before he headed to school.

So I definitely had my keys then because I stood at the kitchen door and pressed the unlock button for Nate.

Didn’t I?

Were they my keys though?

Or were they the extra set?

Did I leave my keys in the car?

“Tighe, I’m going to run out and check my car!”

“What?”

I dashed outside, careful not to slip on the ice that had accumulated the night before, and flipped the garage light on. Rummaging around in the center console, which is full of granola bars, extra masks, and gum, my index finger suddenly looped around a metal ring.

A key ring.

Relief!

Embarrassment. 

They were in the car the whole time. I must have left them in there when I took Tess to a birthday party on Sunday afternoon.

I’m going to have to apologize to Lou tomorrow, I thought to myself. 

Sorry, Lou. Or worker, or whatever you identify as these days.

But honestly, Lou, you probably owe me for the first two and a half years of your life.

Let’s call it even.

PS I called this blog “Trust the Science” because parallel to Lou making messes that day, Tess was conducting “science experiments.” She filled ziploc bags with water, hand soap, nail polish and shredded notebook paper. I thought the blog might take me that direction, but it didn’t. You just never know when your fingers hit the keyboard…