I need to pee.

I walk to the bathroom. The door is shut. We often keep it closed so the baby's hands stay out of such exciting things as full toilet paper rolls and the toilet water. It’s shut, but as I put my hand on the knob and push, I realize it’s also locked. Locking the door and closing it behind: a newfound three-year-old skill.

I walk to the kitchen, in search of a toothpick to pop the lock open.

I pass the high chair, and the kitchen table, and the mess on the floor, still from lunch. Crackers, grilled cheese crusts, a crushed raspberry or two. Gross. Where’s something to wipe it up? I head towards the sink and the paper towels. Wait - that's not what I was in here for. What was I doing? Oh, right.

I need to pee.

To do that I need a toothpick. Of course.

Toothpick in hand, I make it to the bathroom door, put the toothpick in the little hole and - magic! - it jumps open in my hand. There’s a dirty towel on the counter next to the sink. I should really wash towels. And the toilet paper needs a refill. You noticed that yesterday, remember? But the stash of extras which are usually beneath the sink have been depleted, so now a new roll of toilet paper requires a trip upstairs to the linen closet in the master bathroom. Why does this seem so complicated? Do we need a new toilet paper storage system? I don’t want a shelf in this bathroom. I mean I guess we could put something over in the corner. But what would we put there? Extra towels? A powder room doesn't need that many hand towels. I should wash towels. Towels = laundry. Wait, laundry. Speaking of laundry...

I need to check on the laundry.

Switch the clothes in the washer over to the dryer. Remove the load from the dryer and throw it in a basket. Leave the basket in the laundry room because if I try to haul it upstairs to the proper bedroom right now I’ll have three over-eager helpers to follow.

It’s almost naptime. What was it that I wanted to accomplish before naptime today? Switching that laundry over was one thing. Going to the bathroom was another. Oh, the oven. I need to preheat the oven to make -

“I need help!” a voice calls. Help with Play-Doh. I take the lids off, make sure the toddlers are situated at the kitchen table, each with an equal amount of grayish-grossish-who-even-remembers-what-colors-we-started-with-anymore Play-Doh.

The baby runs by, headed towards the living room. He has a raspberry and bread crusts smushed between his fists. Where did he get that from?

Oh, right. The lunch remnants on the floor. Well, I guess he took care of those. What was I going to do now? I don’t know.

It’s almost naptime.

I need a nap.