There is a reason why my husband and I refer to our children as The Three Maggots. First of all, I must add, for the sake of any first-time visitors, that this particular moniker is an accurate representation of how our kids behave on a normal basis. Secondly, there is a whole lotta love flowing in this house, and our children have never questioned our devotion to them, regardless how we refer to them.The kids were not born maggots. Nay, they emerged from my womb the embodiment of perfection, and they each earned their maggot badge at a different time in their life.

Hannah, who was a lovely and easy baby, didn’t become a full-fledged maggot until she entered elementary school. Sure, she made her share of messes as a toddler, but it was never more than I could handle. It was in kindergarten, however, that we realized she was a little Junie B. Jones-ish. *Junie B. Jones is a fictional character in a series of stories about a little girl who gets into trouble. Junie B. Jones is a modern Ramona Quimby.* I should point out that Mother Nature, God, or the random intermingling of chromosomes played a cruel joke on my husband and me with Hannah being the firstborn. The easy ones should always, always come last, because that’s when us tired parents of multiples NEED A BREAK.

Jacob became a maggot his second night at the hospital. Thank goodness for the nurse who took him and gave me the BEST five hours of sleep I have EVER had. Sleepless nights. Endless crying. Refusal to eat. Inability to soothe or be soothed. Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to function as a stay-at-home mom to both a toddler and a high-maintenence infant. It was a dark time for sure. Post-partum depression is very real. 

Bridget avoided maggothood until she learned to walk. To you parents of crawlers who think your child is into everything, just you wait. Enjoy this time of partial immobility. Things go downhill quickly once they learn how to walk and climb. 

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I will preface this story by saying that I try not to be uptight about the messes my kids make. As long as they are having fun, using their imaginations, and not killing themselves or each other, I stay out of their fantasy games. Like most kids, mine love to make forts. Never mind the fact that their forts generally consume every ounce of space in our main room or require the use of every chair, pillow, or blanket. They know that as long as they clean up the mess before Dad returns from work, life is good.

So my kids were downstairs the other day crafting yet another fort. I had just sat down at the computer to work when Jacob came flying up the stairs. Mom! Hannah spilled soap all over the floor! It’s leaking everywhere! I didn’t do it, Mom. Hannah did it. I promise I didn’t do it.

My initial thought was, Damnit! An entire bottle of Tide is wasted on the floor. My second thought was, Damnit! It’s gonna take forever to clean laundry soap out of the carpet.

My third thought, as I was descending the stairs, was, Damnit! That’s not soap. That’s bleach!

Yes, one of my children (they each blame the other) got into the laundry room and decided a bottle of bleach would be the perfect heavy item to weight the edge of one of the fort blankets. They perched it on a shelf rather precariously and when one of the kids jerked the blanket, it caused the bottle of bleach to come plummeting down and explode.

My husband didn’t react a bit to the mess or smell, which is odd, since he’s the one who often overreacts. And me? Well, I was screaming as loud as I possibly could, TOXIC! TOXIC! EVERYBODY UPSTAIRS! in a rather frantic, yet comical, sort of way. My kids were panic-stricken, of course, crying at the mess, crying because I was screaming, crying because they were afraid they were going to die of toxic fumes. *I should say that I am a bit phobic of ALL cleaning products. The bleach is for our convoluted water-treatment system.*

Meanwhile, my husband and I were left sopping up a gallon + amount of bleach from the carpet with all the windows open and fans running (while it was 17 degrees outside). Entry to the basement, the main play area, was banned for two days until the fumes dissipated.

This morning my husband said to me, The basement actually smells clean for once.

Maggots!