Tuesday, December 18, 2007
(There's bound to be lots of) The Writing on the Wall
Give me a T! Give me an E! Give me an A! Give me an M! What does that spell?
One terrified mom.
The girls have known for a little while now that lifting up a toilet seat is hard work and therefore not really worth their time. However, as they discovered this morning, lifting up a toilet seat with four hands is not really hard at all and is, in fact, instantly gratifying. The prospect of them using teamwork horrifies me to no end. You don't understand. My number is up. I'm doomed. Let me explain.
My first two children have never really gotten into stuff. "Whoa, wait a minute," you're saying, "No destroyed make-up, no flour all over the floor, no lotion smeared all over the house?" I am totally serious. For whatever reason, they have pretty much ignored all of the tempting household items surrounding them. I remember once when Mila was not even two, we had a big ol' space heater right in the middle of her room. My sister-in-law, Melanie, was shocked when she saw it and asked, "You don't have to put that away?" all the while eying her own one-year old. But Mila had never even given the thing so much as a second look, let alone touched it.
I was pretty sure that Ethan would change things. I mean, he's a boy, right? But I never even put locks on the cupboards when he was toddling around. No interest whatsoever. Don't get me wrong. There have been trade-offs. We've had relatives tell my kids they don't need to shout when they're standing right in front of them. Repeatedly. They both have quite the flair for the dramatic. But I've never had to clean electric blue lip-gloss out of the carpet or anything. So I've listened to my relatives' stories about Sharpies on leather couches and Desitin all over the mirror with mixed feelings of horror and relief.
I'm sure that you hate me now, but let me get to the point. I am bound to have a troublemaker, sooner or later. The odds just don't add up. But now I'm wishing it had been Ethan, because I just know that it's my turn, and it just so happens that I have TWO. Is that fair? Probably. But that doesn't mean that I can't lie in bed and envision all sorts of schemes that my little team might think up with their two little blond heads. Like climbing out of cribs. Taking off dirty diapers. Opening doors, climbing counters, dumping cold cereal, tearing apart books, eating chalk, cutting hair, breaking priceless family heirlooms, punching holes in walls, beating up smaller, defenseless children, have I forgotten anything? So by all means, feel a little sorry for me. In an earlier post, I said that the best is yet to come. But that was just crazy talk. It's totally the worst. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
I AM going to buy leashes. I saw them at Wal-Mart. They're have cute little furry dogs on them or something.
OK, so maybe I'm over-reacting. Maybe they will be complete angels. But when I call you in tears in a few months, I want to be the one who can say, "I told you so!"