Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Those not-so-glamorous parenting tasks...
(1) I Can Fit Through There! - Anne's newest trick is to (attempt to) squeeze her little self through small openings, usually barriers erected to keep her out and from killing herself. Sometimes she fits through, sometimes not. This does not discourage her from trying. She gets stuck a lot, and is now vocal enough to let us know to come to her rescue. Her efforts seem to focus on (a) a shrieking volume, and (b) irritable tone.
"DA DA DA DA *BAAAAAAAAAA*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" *a bursting into tears*
This happens *frequently*. And inevitably, it's when your hands are busily cutting raw chicken or some equivalent task.
(2) Can You Check To See If I Got It All? - This one's a favorite. I'll set the scene: Mike is teaching. I'm home with both children. I've already fixed Henry's supper. I've fed Anne. Finally, I whip up dinner for myself while Anne plays with her Cheerios. This will take some time, because I'm going to want an omelette. I don't know why, but I love breakfast for dinner. I'm weird like that. I mix the eggs and a dash of milk. I cut up some cheese and veggies. I warm the skillet. I begin to cook the egg mixture. I toast some bread and butter it. I may heat up a sausage patty. I pour myself a drink. I flip the omelette. I may utter a swear word, because sometimes I don't wait long enough and make a mess in the flippage process. Finally, the omelette is done. The toast is done. The sausage patty is done. My drink is on the table. I grab a napkin. I sit down. I get Anne more Cheerios. I lift a forkful of fluffy eggs and creamy cheese to my lips and...
Hark. What is that?
It's Henry. And he's in the bathroom.
"MMMOOOMMMMYYYYY! I NNNEEEEEDDDD YOU!"
Yes, that's right. It's a request for assistance involving the action verb "to wipe." Just what I want to be doing right in the middle of eating. Mike and I talk with such longing in our voices about the day when we have to wipe nobody's rear end but our own. Those days are a long way off, my friends.
(3) It Smells Funny Over By Anne - Anne is very insidious with this one. When Henry was a baby, if he dirtied a diaper, the entire room knew about it. One time, on Christmas Eve no less, the entire church knew about it. Anne is not like that. It's all very quiet and dainty, but there's no disguising the telltale smell. So she's scooped up and summarily deposited on her changing table. That's when the fun begins.
For one thing, she thinks it's great fun to twist around real quick-like and attempt to leap off the changing table. She's smaller than we are, so we can wrangle her back into position, but then she plays her trump card: a sudden, rapid reaching motion *down there*.
Suddenly, she has poo on her hands. Which means I get poo on MY hands. Many wet wipes are tore from the container in a panic. Her hands are wiped. My hands are all wiped. And all of this is taking place while desperately trying to keep her squirming butt from smearing poo all over the changing pad. Once our hands are halfway decent, the wiping process continues, and as Mike exclaimed as soon as he changed her first diaper home from the hospital, "this is different from changing Hank when he was a baby; there are so many *folds*!" Yes, the girl diapers do require a bit more time management and wipeage skill. It's all very exhausting.
(4) "Uh Oh. Don't Worry Mommy, You Can't Even See Where the Juice Went!" - Mike and I are tidy people. This is a polite way of saying that we're a bit anal, and quite possibly obsessive-compulsive. If we didn't have children, we'd probably have a white couch. But we do have children. So, we have a hand-me-down couch that is a loud print that we both hate. But I tell you, that thing has had every fluid known to manKIND spilled on it, and no one is the wiser. I'm sure all of my local friends and family are so glad to know this for when they come to visit. When we get rid of this thing, we're just going to have to burn it.
And so, the possibilities are endless, but that's my top 4. Thank goodness for Oxy Deep.