That’s the length of hubby’s marketing clip that he was listening to while we put on shoes and I tightened my ponytail.
We were headed out for a pajama and DVD drive. Hubby wanted to run by the book store and we figured the kids could wind down to Jungle Book in the car.
Four minutes and thirty-one seconds with our bedroom door closed.
All of the kids were pajama-ed and shod. Dinner was put away. The cat was asleep.
And yet, four minutes and thirty-one seconds is, it seems, just exactly long enough.
I came out and was greeted by the almost 11-month-old grinning up at me.
With her pretty, fuzzy, little blonde head dripping.
I looked at hubby.
“It’s never a good sign when the baby’s head is wet.”
I walked to the living room with hesitant trepidation.
DinoBoy jumped up and proudly stood tall. His head dripping also. He grinned and proudly exclaimed “Mamma! I combed my hair!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. That was no big deal. The bathroom sink was almost never dry anyway.
“Did you comb the baby’s hair too?” I asked, smiling at his sweet, elated little face.
Then I heard it. What I had taken 10 short seconds to believe might not be.
The result of four minutes and thirty-one seconds.
That’s when SunshineGirl’s little gravely voice piped up from behind me:
“Yep, mamma! We combed baby’s hair in the toilet!”