Choice mother moment

I just found myself in an interesting position. I don't know if I can adequately describe the somewhat out of body experience as I consider the indignity of my present condition. I am dressed in sweat pants crawling on my hands and knees feeling for a "wet" spot on the carpet as my toddler yells "Giddy-up horsey" from my back. I happen to be on the floor searching for that elusive "wet" spot because my preschooler just informed me she "had an accident" on the carpet but can't remember where because she was too busy watching Dora fend off swiper with those canonized words (at least at our house), "Swiper, no swiping".
I am both happy and chagrined to hear the buzzer on the dryer signaling the end of the drying cycle of the jeans. This means I can get out of these unflattering sweat pants that make me feel 10 lbs heavier than I already am. I need my motherhood uniform, jeans and a slightly stained t-shirt. Even though I have 3 pairs of jeans and do laundry twice a week, I can't seem to ever have a clean pair come laundry day. Go figure! However, my chagrin comes at the realization that the wet jeans my sweet daughter just threw in the laundry basket missed the batch. It always seems to happen that way.
Having found the spot (yes with my bare hands) and cleaned it, I move on to mop the wet footprints she tracked through the house to tell me all about what had happened. In the process unseating an unhappy cowgirl whose greatest wish at the moment is to ride off into a distant sunset.
"The out of body part?" you may ask. The feeling of deja-vu. The feeling that somehow I have done this many, many, many times before, so many in fact, it really doesn't bother me so much anymore.