Thursday, October 29, 2009
"Picking up Things" or "In a Wad"
Lately, over here at the CC, "Maddening" rhymes with "Motherhood". The rascals are staging a coup against their mother and they've even roped little angel Avery (not even two!) into it. I went to fetch her from her nap (an activity that would have brought me great joy pre-coup) and she had somehow rolled her crib over to the dresser and through the slats opened the drawers and emptied dispersed widely the contents. This is their main tactic: spreading things all over for me to pick up.
When I gasped and said, "Avery! No!!" (not in reprimand, but in a "how-could-could-this-be" outburst), she stood staring at me, silent, until the lips began to quiver and very convincing sobs began to seep from her seams. I knew better than to fall for it though (It is all a part of the coup).
Toddler on my hip, we sauntered into the family room and there, on the rug, her older brother (6 years) had somehow collected every possible choking hazard in the house and spread it in plain view and reach (and was nowhere to be found). But, I did find him, he was in the basement with his father who was encouraging him to use latex paint with his regular clothes on (the ones that cost money and he wears to school) and hit is fingers repeatedly with a hammer. At this sight, my knees trembled (not from fear, but from the betrayal). Was my Dr. Gooch a part of the coup?
Then there was the deep (and surely saliva coated) finger swipe marks in the dessert on the countertop (Hazel?), the rose petal pile neatly place on the front porch near the rose bush now barren of blooms, the poop stewing in the toilet(s), and the Mr. Potato Head parts stuffed in the musical instrument box and vice versa--to name a few.
I was slowly being beat down by the forces of my own progeny and their papa. Wounded and weary, I left the children to their own evil devices downstairs and deciding to lose myself in laundry, I entered the girls' room to gather soiled shirts and skirts. Suddenly there they were in plain view. The socks. Not just dirty, which is expected. Not inside out, which is just annoying--but tied in multiple, super-strength knots.
I collapsed, defeated, to the floor and could have sworn I heard from the rooms below, four tiny cackles and one big guffaw.