Tonight, while clearing the dinner table, Isaiah was explaining to me that it is Avery’s turn to sit by the faucet in the bathtub. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to me, but he did earnestly care that his sister get a chance to sit by the faucet tonight, a rare moment of 3-year-old selflessness.
Then, mid-sentence, in front of the dishwasher, he put his plate down and starting pulling off his shorts and underwear. I wasn’t sure what he was doing but I didn’t stop him. It wasn’t until he was bracing himself against the counter to get his feet out that he seemed to realize what he was doing, and that he was technically still clearing the table. In the kitchen.
A really adorable and sheepish grin sort of cracked in the corners of his mouth, and without making eye-contact he seemed to be thinking, “Maybe if I just keep going she won’t notice.”
But then I cracked. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing a little and said, “Did you forget you aren’t at the bathtub yet?”
“Yeah,” he said, laughing a little too. “I’m going to go tell Daddy that Avery can have the faucet. And I’m going to the bathroom just like this.” He grabbed his pile of clothes, and with his little white booty poking out under his shirttail he scurried upstairs, leaving me with the rest of the dishes.
It was one of those moments that I would never remember to remember.
But I don’t really want to forget.