Levity
Much thinking happening over here lately.
Time for some levity. I've got 2 stories for ya. Read on.
:Raging Bull:
Yesterday, Anna, my 2 year old, was in quite a snit. These days, she vascillates between getting away with murder and being excluded from every activity on the face of the planet. The third child. The little sister. If I had money to leave her an inheritance, I'd have to tack on a couple more zeros, just to cover the counseling.
So, yesterday, after repeatedly getting into somebody's something and making a general nuisance of herself; after my repeated warnings to keep herself occupied with something wholesome and acceptable; after her continual disobedience of that warning; after my very generous invitation that she distract herself by doing laundry with Mommy; after I swatted her hiney, physically picked her up and manhandled her to the laundry room, and closed the door behind me. She was rather, uh, perturbed.
Deprived of all pleasure in her two year old life, she could only see red. (She's funny. She can be in the foulest mood but still have an intelligable conversation with you- through the wails and screams.) The girl was mad, mad, mad. But since she was in the laundry room now, she might as well have a little fun in her mad, mad, mad life.
Her favorite fun thing when she helps me with laundry is cleaning the lint screen. She must see me use the old dryer sheet to wipe the lint screen, and think that's the one-and-only way it can be done, because yesterday, amidst the mad screams, she kept pointing to the box of dryer sheets and demanding that I hand her one.
She'd had enough. Anna is a raging bull in a Smurf's body when she's. Had. Enough.
I'm sure that, by her reckoning, the world was careening, the guillotine was dropping, and she was being flung to the wild corners of the universe. With fire in her eyes, snot leaking from her nose, her tiny frame quivering with rage... she opened her ferocious jaws... and chomped down... on a fistful of LINT.
Screeeeeeeeeeech!
That raging bull came tumbling back to reality. Her teary eyes pleaded with me for answers, for comfort, for a drink of water. Her fuzzy tongue stuck out as far as it could go as she delicately picked off pieces of sweaters and towels. And then she wanted Mommy to hold her.
Sweet baby. She really can't catch a break. I'm going to have to seriously look into some inheritance money.
:Somebody Stop Me:
Homeschoolers are strange people. You can spot us a mile away. You can hear us coming. (Because we're talking about astronomy and Native American composting techniques in the 17th century.)
The kids and I are studying Early Settlers this month, so as a bonus we've made some simple Jamestown-ish costumes. Coifs, dresses, collars, aprons... whatever we can piece together to help us get in the spirit of things.
Our co-op came over Wednesday to learn about what the settlers would've eaten and how they would've cooked it. Over and open fire in my backyard, to be precise.
So I'm standing there in my billowy apron and settler dress, trying to stoke the fire for some baked apples and scrambled eggs, and this apron just keeps flapping into the flames. Not once or twice, but many a time.
I can see the headlines now:
Oy vey. I should have just worn blue jeans.
Time for some levity. I've got 2 stories for ya. Read on.
:Raging Bull:
Yesterday, Anna, my 2 year old, was in quite a snit. These days, she vascillates between getting away with murder and being excluded from every activity on the face of the planet. The third child. The little sister. If I had money to leave her an inheritance, I'd have to tack on a couple more zeros, just to cover the counseling.
So, yesterday, after repeatedly getting into somebody's something and making a general nuisance of herself; after my repeated warnings to keep herself occupied with something wholesome and acceptable; after her continual disobedience of that warning; after my very generous invitation that she distract herself by doing laundry with Mommy; after I swatted her hiney, physically picked her up and manhandled her to the laundry room, and closed the door behind me. She was rather, uh, perturbed.
Deprived of all pleasure in her two year old life, she could only see red. (She's funny. She can be in the foulest mood but still have an intelligable conversation with you- through the wails and screams.) The girl was mad, mad, mad. But since she was in the laundry room now, she might as well have a little fun in her mad, mad, mad life.
Her favorite fun thing when she helps me with laundry is cleaning the lint screen. She must see me use the old dryer sheet to wipe the lint screen, and think that's the one-and-only way it can be done, because yesterday, amidst the mad screams, she kept pointing to the box of dryer sheets and demanding that I hand her one.
"No Sweetie. You don't need one of those. Just use your
hand."
Scream!
"Honey, that doesn't clean the lint. Mommy just uses the old one to throw it
all away at one time."
Scream!
"I'm NOT giving you a brand new dryer sheet to wipe out the lint
screen. Would you quit?!"
Scream!
She'd had enough. Anna is a raging bull in a Smurf's body when she's. Had. Enough.
I'm sure that, by her reckoning, the world was careening, the guillotine was dropping, and she was being flung to the wild corners of the universe. With fire in her eyes, snot leaking from her nose, her tiny frame quivering with rage... she opened her ferocious jaws... and chomped down... on a fistful of LINT.
Screeeeeeeeeeech!
That raging bull came tumbling back to reality. Her teary eyes pleaded with me for answers, for comfort, for a drink of water. Her fuzzy tongue stuck out as far as it could go as she delicately picked off pieces of sweaters and towels. And then she wanted Mommy to hold her.
Sweet baby. She really can't catch a break. I'm going to have to seriously look into some inheritance money.
:Somebody Stop Me:
Homeschoolers are strange people. You can spot us a mile away. You can hear us coming. (Because we're talking about astronomy and Native American composting techniques in the 17th century.)
The kids and I are studying Early Settlers this month, so as a bonus we've made some simple Jamestown-ish costumes. Coifs, dresses, collars, aprons... whatever we can piece together to help us get in the spirit of things.
Our co-op came over Wednesday to learn about what the settlers would've eaten and how they would've cooked it. Over and open fire in my backyard, to be precise.
So I'm standing there in my billowy apron and settler dress, trying to stoke the fire for some baked apples and scrambled eggs, and this apron just keeps flapping into the flames. Not once or twice, but many a time.
I can see the headlines now:
Homeschool Quack Sets Self, House on Fire for Cooking Experiment
- "I wanted to be authentic. I never thought the apron would drag through the
flames and melt my shoes. The cider was good though."
Oy vey. I should have just worn blue jeans.
paper lantern of the day Friday, November 03, 2006
5 Comments:
This post cracked me up!!
I've never outgrown my two-year-old temper tantrums and stupid mistakes linked to t.t.'s.
During your description of Anna's meltdown, I kept imagining Jack reacting the same way. They are not just birthday buddies...they are kindred spirits! He's the one who's going to throw the screaming fit on the floor. Of the grocery store. In the laundry room. In the bathroom. You name it. He's got the volume and the temperament. If only I didn't!
Great story about the open fire, too. You told it well-I could see it in my head just fine. Glad you didn't make headlines.
Poor Anna. Let this be a leason to you, sweety, that your temper can leave a bad fuzzy taste in your mouth. For instance, you could loose your temper because the drivers in NC are terrible, whip around the corner going 48 in a 35 and meet Mr. Policeman.
In a school zone.
Without your registration.
With expired tags.
And an old address on your DL.
Excuse me, I think I need to choke up a $138 hair ball.
In our technologically advanced, "smarter" society, I can see how completely amused the earlier settlers would view us. "Idiots."
No need to wonder where the Raging Bull's temper originates- I confess.
It's a scary thing to watch a miniature version of yourself cussing a blue streak. If she knew how to say it, I'm sure she would have.
Here's how she is also like me. I keep finding her hiding behind the living room chair with the giant bowl of Halloween candy. Hmmmm... wonder what she's doing there. Counting it?
And yes, Rhonda, some things are timeless. Idiocy, is one.
Does that make us 'Idiocrats'?
...and here's my belated entry in the word verification contest...can't remember if we were s'posed to make a word or song title...I choose the latter...
ydlunhgz = 'You Don't Love Us No How, Gangly Zebra!'
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