If you ask anyone, I'm the first person to believe in Magic. (At least. I'm the first person to get excited about something magical, even if it's a bit misleading).
The idea of magic thrills me.
And, apparently, it thrills my 5 year old because tonight he attempted his very first magical act.
And failed.
To his utter shock and disappointment.
And who had to deal with the fall out? The 'this is real life and that is make believe' discussion?
Oh, no.
Not me.
Nope.
I lied so bad, Pinocchio ain't got nothin' on me!
...But before I go on, let me tell you the tale of the time when my son's hopes and dreams came crashing down around him...
Since our move, my son has found a new movie obsession. (Now that I think about it, it's the same movie obsession that my brothers had at that age. Hmmm, does anyone else smell a Hollywood conspiracy?)
Anyway,
Tyler has been watching 'The Indian in the Cupboard' religiously for about two months now. I'm not sure if it's the magic, if it's the fact that it all happens to a little boy, or both; but he loves this movie.
Now normally, this is where a mother's tale would end.
Her kid loves a movie, watches it all the time, yada yada yada.
Yeah.
Got it lady. We've all been there.
Right?
But, unfortunately for me, this is just where it starts.
Because many moons ago, when I was just a young child of...I can't even remember, my dear grandmother made me, my brothers, and my cousins little wooden boxes.
The boxes belonging to me and her only other female granddaughter were, what else, Barbie. My brothers' and all my male cousins got boxes decorated after (you guessed it) The Indian in the Cupboard.
Not only were they decorated; she had also bought them the movie complete with the Indian action figure and the key to use with their boxes.
(And all my cousin and I got were McDonald's barbies. Favoritism much?)
...Flash forward however many years...
One of my brothers still has their box (or rather, they think they do but really my son has claimed it as his own).
Tyler has been playing with this box for a while now. Every time he watches the movie, the box is by his side.
Well, recently, we found the Indian.
Yay for us! Right?
So he now has the box and the Indian, he plays in compete and utter happiness, and watches his movie...end of story?
Nope.
I'm not that lucky.
(Because I am the cleaning type of person that I am) somehow today he came across the long lost key for the box.
Insert my 'Oh, crap' here.
And (as I'm sure you've already guessed) in goes the Indian.
Twist goes the key.
AND...
He's still plastic.
Shocker.
Enter crestfallen, heartbroken, and devastated little boy whom I now very carefully have to put back together.
So as he looked up at me with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes I told him exactly what he needed to hear to help him understand this momentous disappointment in his life....
"It's not the right cupboard."
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Losing My Mind and the Duck Tape
There comes a time in a child's life when the gloves have to come off.
When their parents can no longer play fair and laugh at their innocent antics.
A time when, frankly, you have to play dirty with your kids or risk drowning in their pool of personality.
I have reached such a time.
I don't know if it was the move. (We recently relocated for my Husbands new job). Or if it's just the age.
But the newest habbit of my beautiful, intelligent and youngest son is to remove his diaper.
Sounds cute right?
You can picture it now, can't you?
A half naked little boy running through the house, little butt cheeks peeking around corners when he's trying to hide from you.
Something adorable, right out of a disney movie.
No.
No, it's not.
Imagine this instead:
A diaper laying on the floor where a sweet little angel removed and threw it.
A smell that takes your breath away the second you enter the room.
And a brand new painting decorating your white bedroom walls...
And the floor...
And the bed...
And the clean pile of clothes you havent had a chance to put away yet...
And the baby.
Goop in his hair, on his hands, feet, and any other place both visible and not.
Can you picture it?
I can.
I've lived it.
Many times.
What's the big deal, you ask?
He's just a little boy. He just needs to be taught.
Haven't met my kid have you?
There's no teaching this child.
I have been told on multiple occasions by some of the most elderly individuals I know, that they have never in their lives seen a child as mischievious and inteligent as this one.
Think a brunette Dennis the Mennis with an older sibling to pick on and you've just about nailed my son.
Just about.
So what's a mom to do?
I've tried layering the clothes....yeah, right.
Disciplining.
And I've even tried the laid back method..."boys will be boys, if you don't react he'll get bored with the behavior and it will stop."
Who comes up with this crap?!?!
So I turned to the only avenue that would allow me to sleep at night without a bucket of water and a sponge beside my bed...
Duck Tape.
Industrial strength, you aren't getting this off until you die, Duck Tape.
I know what you're thinking:
How can you do something like that?!
What kind of mother are you?!
I'm a mother who can now sleep at night after an entire summer and fall of daiper removing hell.
I'm a mother who no longer has to take an hour and a half out of my busy day (and/or) night to clean a mess that was never ending.
I'm a mother who hasn't had to scrub poop off the cieling of my son's room in 2 months because he can't get his diaper off.
At least, not until the other night.
When I lost the Duck Tape.
Imagine if you can, everything I described above.
All the horror and endless smell MULTIPIED BY TEN.
Getting back at me for months of making him keep his diaper on?
Most likely.
But I've learned 3 things from all of this:
1. 2 year old boys were sent to this earth to torture and kill thier mothers. (It's a simple fact. Ask the mother of any little boy and I garantee they will agree.)
2. Processed food makes the smell worse.
3. I will never, ever run out or lose the Duck Tape again. (I have successfully purchased every last roll of Duck Tape this town has to offer and you'll have to pay a substantial amount if you need one).
When their parents can no longer play fair and laugh at their innocent antics.
A time when, frankly, you have to play dirty with your kids or risk drowning in their pool of personality.
I have reached such a time.
I don't know if it was the move. (We recently relocated for my Husbands new job). Or if it's just the age.
But the newest habbit of my beautiful, intelligent and youngest son is to remove his diaper.
Sounds cute right?
You can picture it now, can't you?
A half naked little boy running through the house, little butt cheeks peeking around corners when he's trying to hide from you.
Something adorable, right out of a disney movie.
No.
No, it's not.
Imagine this instead:
A diaper laying on the floor where a sweet little angel removed and threw it.
A smell that takes your breath away the second you enter the room.
And a brand new painting decorating your white bedroom walls...
And the floor...
And the bed...
And the clean pile of clothes you havent had a chance to put away yet...
And the baby.
Goop in his hair, on his hands, feet, and any other place both visible and not.
Can you picture it?
I can.
I've lived it.
Many times.
What's the big deal, you ask?
He's just a little boy. He just needs to be taught.
Haven't met my kid have you?
There's no teaching this child.
I have been told on multiple occasions by some of the most elderly individuals I know, that they have never in their lives seen a child as mischievious and inteligent as this one.
Think a brunette Dennis the Mennis with an older sibling to pick on and you've just about nailed my son.
Just about.
So what's a mom to do?
I've tried layering the clothes....yeah, right.
Disciplining.
And I've even tried the laid back method..."boys will be boys, if you don't react he'll get bored with the behavior and it will stop."
Who comes up with this crap?!?!
So I turned to the only avenue that would allow me to sleep at night without a bucket of water and a sponge beside my bed...
Duck Tape.
Industrial strength, you aren't getting this off until you die, Duck Tape.
I know what you're thinking:
How can you do something like that?!
What kind of mother are you?!
I'm a mother who can now sleep at night after an entire summer and fall of daiper removing hell.
I'm a mother who no longer has to take an hour and a half out of my busy day (and/or) night to clean a mess that was never ending.
I'm a mother who hasn't had to scrub poop off the cieling of my son's room in 2 months because he can't get his diaper off.
At least, not until the other night.
When I lost the Duck Tape.
Imagine if you can, everything I described above.
All the horror and endless smell MULTIPIED BY TEN.
Getting back at me for months of making him keep his diaper on?
Most likely.
But I've learned 3 things from all of this:
1. 2 year old boys were sent to this earth to torture and kill thier mothers. (It's a simple fact. Ask the mother of any little boy and I garantee they will agree.)
2. Processed food makes the smell worse.
3. I will never, ever run out or lose the Duck Tape again. (I have successfully purchased every last roll of Duck Tape this town has to offer and you'll have to pay a substantial amount if you need one).
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