Thousands of dollars worth of toddler toys remain dusty and unused, piled into the corner. I take them out every once in a while, replace batteries, reorganize them, putting missing pieces into the proper containers. I feign childlike excitement as I play with them in front of the kids, so that they can understand how absolutely thrilling it is to press a button and hear the alphabet, sung by a robotic voice. I'll make the choo-choo go around the track and when I get all the way around, I let out a little squeal to indicate to them how wonderful it all is.
Usually the kids don't get to see much of my antics because they are too busy playing trampoline with my couch or chasing each other in lightning fast figure eights around the living room.
I haven't decided that they are necessarily wrong in their play. It does seem more fun to play chase or see if it is indeed possible to touch the ceiling if you jump just a little bit higher. And the alphabet song only has limited appeal.
-Angryhousemom.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
She wants to kill me
She's 18 months. She has pretty, curly hair. She laughs and smiles. And she's a lethal killing machine.
I'm sure its my fault. Her brother was only 16 months old when she was born. He was discovering how much fun it is to break stuff. He hurt himself frequently. He was feeling a little threatened by the cute little ball of baby that I had just brought into the house. So, for too much time, his sister waited for the attention she deserved while I attended to her brother.
It got better for her around 6 months when I adjusted to the craziness that comes from having two kids close in age. But perhaps it was too little, too late. My daughter is angry.
She has major tantrums, taking her from sweet little angel to DEMONIC WILD THING. She throws her head to the hard floors in the store, kicks and punches me to properly convey how totally hurt and upset she is that she cannot continue to take merchandise off of the shelves. She will fight so hard when being put into the car (when she'd rather be let go to run into the street) that I have almost dropped her several times. I don't even want to get into what diaper changes are like for us. Lets just say that both mommy and baby consistently need bathtime immediately afterwards.
As harrowing as these experiences can be, I don't mind them because I know what to expect during her tantrum times. Its the unexpected attacks that rattle me to the bone.
Submitted as the latest example of said attacks:
My son hates eating. He would rather snap his plastic fork in half than place any sustinance in his mouth. And two days ago, that's exactly what he did. I was upset. I wished he could eat like his sister. She sits in the booster chair next to him, systematically placing ziti noodles into her mouth, without the use of a fork. I don't always give her one - it tends to make a mess. So as I come back to the kitchen table with seconds for myself and my husband, I fail to notice that my daughter has decided a fork would be nice - she had reached across the table and obtained the top half of the broken fork, sharp edges and all.
Time passes. Meals are cleaned up. And as I pick up my daughter, she secretly takes hold of the sharp fork-weapon - and like something out of a Hitchcock movie, makes a quick stab at my neck. Unfortunately for her, she only succeeded in giving me a 3 inch long scrape, extending from my ear downwards towards the center of my neck. If only she had used a newly sharpened steak knife, or used a different technique - more of a stab than a scrape. Or if she had only studied the locations of the major neck arteries...
This time around she only succeeded in giving me a lifelong scar. It only bled a little. And now she has to deal with me for a little longer until she can plan the next attack.
My daughter wants to kill me. And I'm not pleased. Perhaps I should give her a timeout?
-Angry Housemom
I'm sure its my fault. Her brother was only 16 months old when she was born. He was discovering how much fun it is to break stuff. He hurt himself frequently. He was feeling a little threatened by the cute little ball of baby that I had just brought into the house. So, for too much time, his sister waited for the attention she deserved while I attended to her brother.
It got better for her around 6 months when I adjusted to the craziness that comes from having two kids close in age. But perhaps it was too little, too late. My daughter is angry.
She has major tantrums, taking her from sweet little angel to DEMONIC WILD THING. She throws her head to the hard floors in the store, kicks and punches me to properly convey how totally hurt and upset she is that she cannot continue to take merchandise off of the shelves. She will fight so hard when being put into the car (when she'd rather be let go to run into the street) that I have almost dropped her several times. I don't even want to get into what diaper changes are like for us. Lets just say that both mommy and baby consistently need bathtime immediately afterwards.
As harrowing as these experiences can be, I don't mind them because I know what to expect during her tantrum times. Its the unexpected attacks that rattle me to the bone.
Submitted as the latest example of said attacks:
My son hates eating. He would rather snap his plastic fork in half than place any sustinance in his mouth. And two days ago, that's exactly what he did. I was upset. I wished he could eat like his sister. She sits in the booster chair next to him, systematically placing ziti noodles into her mouth, without the use of a fork. I don't always give her one - it tends to make a mess. So as I come back to the kitchen table with seconds for myself and my husband, I fail to notice that my daughter has decided a fork would be nice - she had reached across the table and obtained the top half of the broken fork, sharp edges and all.
Time passes. Meals are cleaned up. And as I pick up my daughter, she secretly takes hold of the sharp fork-weapon - and like something out of a Hitchcock movie, makes a quick stab at my neck. Unfortunately for her, she only succeeded in giving me a 3 inch long scrape, extending from my ear downwards towards the center of my neck. If only she had used a newly sharpened steak knife, or used a different technique - more of a stab than a scrape. Or if she had only studied the locations of the major neck arteries...
This time around she only succeeded in giving me a lifelong scar. It only bled a little. And now she has to deal with me for a little longer until she can plan the next attack.
My daughter wants to kill me. And I'm not pleased. Perhaps I should give her a timeout?
-Angry Housemom
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Adullt Proofing the House
People talk about "babyproofing" the house. Its a vague term before your kids are toddlers, and even vaguer before you have kids. I kind of envisioned going to 'babys r us' and purchasing a premade set of bumpers so that the playroom in the house would kind of resemble gymboree when done. Surely babyproofing referred to making sure there are no longer sharp edges and open electrical outlets. It would be the queen of all faux pas to allow either in the play area. This is common knowledge, even to the most inexperienced of all parents.
Here is what I didn't know: Babyproofing has less to do with keeping your kid safe and much more to do with keeping your stuff safe.
Playroom? Hah! We didn't have one anyway with our small home, but I had assumed the living room could double as the children sanctuary. (The kids would play quietly with their coloring books and Little People Toys and I would look on admiringly from the couch as I browsed through my magazines and bathed in the joy of parental ecstasy.)
The HOUSE is their playroom. My son figured out the mystery of opening doors at 18 months. My daughter was into my pantry and all of the spices and cooking supplies at 16 months. My bedroom and all of my carefully folded clothes has been common fodder for a long time. Its a miracle that my computer is still working after the daily abuse it gets from the kids. My piano keys are all chipped from the kids banging at them with various children toys. (all children toys can double as weapons.)
The list is unexaustable. Every material item I have ever loved or cherished has been broken beyond repair - my beautiful music note mug that reminded me of my life as a musician when I still had dreams for myself as I sipped delicious coffee in the morning - thrown to the floor and destroyed. The penpal collection of letters from exotic places that I will most likely never visit was thoughtfully thrown away. 4 cell phones and 1 digital camera have been destroyed. My 50 year old toilet with pieces that are no longer sold, is therefore no longer fixable after my kids discovered how utterly exciting it is to flush over and over again. They do not, however pee or poo into it. Instead they've done that on my couch, my throw rugs, my bed, my kitchen table.
It was too late that we discovered that instead of 'babyproofing' we needed to 'adultproof. This includes:
Double sided locks are installed on all doors. Key entry is required to enter or exit all doors. Keys are kept VERY high - too high for me, at 5'2''. If you've seen the movie, "The Others" with Nicole Kidman, you can imagine what life is like for us. Never unlock and open a door without first ensuring all other doors are closed and locked. If you need to use a bathroom very badly, you must first get a chair from the kitchen and bring it over to the bathroom door, stand on it, take the key down, and unlock the door. The chair in the kitchen is carried over the IMPOSSIBLE to open extra wide gate that has been installed into the wood. A gate that had to be placed so tight that it actually has loosened the stair banister prevents us from going upstairs to the attic. Latches seal the cabinets and drawers closed. Keyboard and mouse of the computer are not accessible unless you first reach behind the computer where we hide them from little hands. Curtains meant to hang down and look pretty to both inside and outside people are suspended way up high so that little Tarzans do not swing from them.
It has become so hard to move from one room to another, to plug anything in, to use any electronic devices, or to even just sit and read that I have been reduced to sitting and rocking back and forth on my couch for hours at a time while I contemplate why I became a parent in the first place.
This is the Angry Housemom
Here is what I didn't know: Babyproofing has less to do with keeping your kid safe and much more to do with keeping your stuff safe.
Playroom? Hah! We didn't have one anyway with our small home, but I had assumed the living room could double as the children sanctuary. (The kids would play quietly with their coloring books and Little People Toys and I would look on admiringly from the couch as I browsed through my magazines and bathed in the joy of parental ecstasy.)
The HOUSE is their playroom. My son figured out the mystery of opening doors at 18 months. My daughter was into my pantry and all of the spices and cooking supplies at 16 months. My bedroom and all of my carefully folded clothes has been common fodder for a long time. Its a miracle that my computer is still working after the daily abuse it gets from the kids. My piano keys are all chipped from the kids banging at them with various children toys. (all children toys can double as weapons.)
The list is unexaustable. Every material item I have ever loved or cherished has been broken beyond repair - my beautiful music note mug that reminded me of my life as a musician when I still had dreams for myself as I sipped delicious coffee in the morning - thrown to the floor and destroyed. The penpal collection of letters from exotic places that I will most likely never visit was thoughtfully thrown away. 4 cell phones and 1 digital camera have been destroyed. My 50 year old toilet with pieces that are no longer sold, is therefore no longer fixable after my kids discovered how utterly exciting it is to flush over and over again. They do not, however pee or poo into it. Instead they've done that on my couch, my throw rugs, my bed, my kitchen table.
It was too late that we discovered that instead of 'babyproofing' we needed to 'adultproof. This includes:
Double sided locks are installed on all doors. Key entry is required to enter or exit all doors. Keys are kept VERY high - too high for me, at 5'2''. If you've seen the movie, "The Others" with Nicole Kidman, you can imagine what life is like for us. Never unlock and open a door without first ensuring all other doors are closed and locked. If you need to use a bathroom very badly, you must first get a chair from the kitchen and bring it over to the bathroom door, stand on it, take the key down, and unlock the door. The chair in the kitchen is carried over the IMPOSSIBLE to open extra wide gate that has been installed into the wood. A gate that had to be placed so tight that it actually has loosened the stair banister prevents us from going upstairs to the attic. Latches seal the cabinets and drawers closed. Keyboard and mouse of the computer are not accessible unless you first reach behind the computer where we hide them from little hands. Curtains meant to hang down and look pretty to both inside and outside people are suspended way up high so that little Tarzans do not swing from them.
It has become so hard to move from one room to another, to plug anything in, to use any electronic devices, or to even just sit and read that I have been reduced to sitting and rocking back and forth on my couch for hours at a time while I contemplate why I became a parent in the first place.
This is the Angry Housemom
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