Tag Archives: parenting

Not a tigers one, Mama.

My son is super awesome.  Just today I told him we were gonna go have an adventure this afternoon.  We were going to meet The Hubs for lunch and then try to maybe go for a ferry ride.  Not terribly exciting, but hey, take the adventures you can get. 

So I told The Kids that we were going to have an adventure.  The Girl wanted to be sure she could bring a book.  The Boy?  He said, “I love adventures!  But not a tigers one.  No tigers, Mama.”.  OK, so he’s not into tiger wrestling.  Too bad, since I was totally planning that for next Saturday.  About ten minutes later he’s giving me more detail about this adventure.  He tells me, “We’ll have to take an airplane.  A China one.”  Clearly he and I were not on the same wavelength about the term “adventure”. 

I categorize going to the grocery store with both kids as an adventure.  Seriously, will this be a “two sweet angels everyone wants to steal” kind of grocery trip, or a “no, I’ve never seen those two Hellions before” kind of trip?  Will they help me remember what’s on the list and run to various parts of the store to get things for me, or will they tear up the list and laugh maniacally as they throw boxes and bags of food to the floor?  Will the people at the store ask if the kids want stickers, or ask us never to return?

He imagines snarling tigers that we must defeat to continue on our way.  Probably while walking the enitre length of the Great Wall on our way to traverse the Mongolian steppes riding semi-wild horses.  Bareback, of course.

Me, I think of the time I didn’t cancel the dental appointments that The Hubs was not going to be able to help with after all.  Wondering if The Boy is running down the highway as I worry about what the dentist is finding in his sister’s mouth, all while I’m trapped under the leaf blower and the jackhammer the hygenist has in my mouth.  At home The Girl can climb a towering bookcase to get down the hidden iPad so she’s got something to do besides play with 5 trillion toys or read 5 thousand books.  At the dentist, she can’t find the iPad in my purse so she’s stuck putting her hand on every item in the dentist’s treatment room while my mouth is full of hands and suction keeping me from telling her to stop and sit down. 

The Boy, he’s off the the wilds of Asia. 

His adventures sound a lot more fun than mine.

A stroke of evil mommy genius

blt

This morning I decided that I was not going to let us keep living in this house with it so filthy, so I cleaned …… the half bath.  First I cooked refrigerator cinnamon rolls and we all ate breakfast.  Then I cooked a couple of pounds of bacon and a pound of Italian sausage to use in later recipes.  You know, I had to work up to the whole cleaning thing.  After that I set the kids up with a movie to watch if they simply could not find anything else to do.  Then I went head-down into the half bath.  It’s 5 feet square – it can’t take very long even though it is practically a hazardous waste zone.

I put the towels in the wash and start bringing out the trash can and such so I can clean it all, and there is The Girl with her hand in the bag of M&Ms she’d sneaked out of the pantry.  Now I don’t really care that she’s eating M&Ms, but I know she’s bored instead of hungry.  Plus, I’ve just fed her breakfast an hour ago.  Plus, I’ve just told her I would make BLTs for lunch as soon as I get done in this bathroom.  I make her put them away. 

After an hour of alternating cleaning the bathroom (it was worse than I thought), I am finally at the kitchen sink doing the last clean up & washing my hands, getting ready to make those BLTs.  I hear a sound sort of like the one slot machines make as they payoff – lots of small things crashing fast through a tight space.  This sound brings a cascade of M&Ms out from under the pantry door.  Damn.  I open the door and find the bag, with one long side torn off, hanging halfway off the edge of a shelf.  There’s a nice pile of M&Ms on the next shelf down and a thin layer over everything on the floor level – multi-packs of paper towels and baskets of lunch bags and bottles of juice.  Great.  That’s gonna be fun for me to clean up. 

That’s when the stroke of evil mommy genius hits:  I’ll make her clean it up.  Not only does it mean I don’t have to clean it, but I can claim I’m teaching her a valuable lesson about how important it is to do things right in the first place.  I make her clean it up.  I make her empty everything out of the pantry and make sure every one of those M&Ms is out of that pantry.  I’m not going to leave them to attract pests, and I’m not cleaning them up.  Made her sweep it out since she had it all cleaned out.  Made her clean up and put away the broom and dustpan, too.  ‘Cause I’m mean like that.  Somewhere along the line I realize that I’m actually investing more time in getting her to clean it right than it would have taken for me to clean it myself.  On the other hand, I taught her how to clean up a mess like that, right?

Then I made the BLTs, which were delicious.  Mmmmmm.  Bacon.