Can't Take My Eyes Off of You
"You're just too good to be true.
Can't take my eyes off of you."
If we take "good" and replace it with "quick" or "fast" this could be K's theme song. I swear that boy waits for the very second that he knows my attention will be elsewhere to slip into Speedy Gonzalez mode and tackle something Mommy would disapprove of. Wednesday I was busy doing the dishes and didn't notice when he decided to join J and B outside. (Actually, none of them had permission to be out there, but K is the one who worries me the most.) When it finally occurred to me that it was awfully quiet for a house supposedly containing five children, I hurried out front to look for them. J and B were carelessly riding their bikes in front of the house, but K was nowhere to be seen. Wild interrogation of the older siblings led to the discovery of my intrepid 3 year old down the street, strutting back and forth on the top of the decorative fountain at the entrance to our neighborhood. Oh, and he was wearing nothing but underwear. I wonder what the cars driving past thought. . . .
Whatever they thought, the neighbors got a repeat performance the very next night. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but apparently not. See, the trouble is that it is just so hot in our house right now, but I didn't want to foot the bill for running the a/c so soon. But there are few windows I can open and catch any kind of a breeze, so I'd been leaving the front door open and the screen down on the storm door. But the storm door is just too easy for K to sneak out of without me hearing anything. The other kids slam it, but not K-- he knows that would bring me right out to investigate. (I gave up tonight and turned the a/c on. Our bank account will feel the pinch, but the chain's up on the door and so we'll have K confined to the house. I hope.)
Tonight he decided to go for the speedy, sneaky version of destruction. I had just finished emptying out the insides of the eggshells we were going to use for cascarones (Mexican Easter eggs). It's a delicate business, and I was relieved to get my dozen eggs emptied and still intact. By the time I finished, S was screaming so I put the carton of clean eggshells on the top counter, thinking as soon as I was done feeding the baby I'd hide them in my room. (See, I already knew he wouldn't be able to resist.) But not five minutes after I started to feed S, M ran in and told me that K had smashed our eggshells. You have got to be kidding me!! I found that five survived at least, so the kids will each get one cascarone. But all my hard work destroyed . . . made me want to scream.
Speaking of things that make me want to scream, my lovely daughters pulled a double-header of gooey mess-making this week. Wednesday night they decided to make some cinnamon sugar for some reason. After making a big bowl of it (and spilling it everywhere) somehow water got involved. I had a sticky, gritty mess all over my kitchen floor. Oh, how I hate to mop, too. And then, ignoring my threats of dire consequences, they repeated the same disastrous experiment on Thursday night! Only they got the consistency different so I had pools of gooey, spicy paste decorating my kitchen sink, counters, and floor. It was AWFUL. I insisted that they clean it up, but after an hour of yelling at each other and throwing things (they wouldn't stop arguing over whose fault it was and thus who had to do the most cleaning), I banished them from the kitchen and charged them money to clean it up myself. Did I mention that I really, really hate mopping?
I need six more sets of eyes-- or security cameras that automatically monitor my house and set off an alarm when destruction or toddler escapes are in progress. When will they grow out of this? Ever???
Can't take my eyes off of you."
If we take "good" and replace it with "quick" or "fast" this could be K's theme song. I swear that boy waits for the very second that he knows my attention will be elsewhere to slip into Speedy Gonzalez mode and tackle something Mommy would disapprove of. Wednesday I was busy doing the dishes and didn't notice when he decided to join J and B outside. (Actually, none of them had permission to be out there, but K is the one who worries me the most.) When it finally occurred to me that it was awfully quiet for a house supposedly containing five children, I hurried out front to look for them. J and B were carelessly riding their bikes in front of the house, but K was nowhere to be seen. Wild interrogation of the older siblings led to the discovery of my intrepid 3 year old down the street, strutting back and forth on the top of the decorative fountain at the entrance to our neighborhood. Oh, and he was wearing nothing but underwear. I wonder what the cars driving past thought. . . .
Whatever they thought, the neighbors got a repeat performance the very next night. You'd think I'd learn my lesson, but apparently not. See, the trouble is that it is just so hot in our house right now, but I didn't want to foot the bill for running the a/c so soon. But there are few windows I can open and catch any kind of a breeze, so I'd been leaving the front door open and the screen down on the storm door. But the storm door is just too easy for K to sneak out of without me hearing anything. The other kids slam it, but not K-- he knows that would bring me right out to investigate. (I gave up tonight and turned the a/c on. Our bank account will feel the pinch, but the chain's up on the door and so we'll have K confined to the house. I hope.)
Tonight he decided to go for the speedy, sneaky version of destruction. I had just finished emptying out the insides of the eggshells we were going to use for cascarones (Mexican Easter eggs). It's a delicate business, and I was relieved to get my dozen eggs emptied and still intact. By the time I finished, S was screaming so I put the carton of clean eggshells on the top counter, thinking as soon as I was done feeding the baby I'd hide them in my room. (See, I already knew he wouldn't be able to resist.) But not five minutes after I started to feed S, M ran in and told me that K had smashed our eggshells. You have got to be kidding me!! I found that five survived at least, so the kids will each get one cascarone. But all my hard work destroyed . . . made me want to scream.
Speaking of things that make me want to scream, my lovely daughters pulled a double-header of gooey mess-making this week. Wednesday night they decided to make some cinnamon sugar for some reason. After making a big bowl of it (and spilling it everywhere) somehow water got involved. I had a sticky, gritty mess all over my kitchen floor. Oh, how I hate to mop, too. And then, ignoring my threats of dire consequences, they repeated the same disastrous experiment on Thursday night! Only they got the consistency different so I had pools of gooey, spicy paste decorating my kitchen sink, counters, and floor. It was AWFUL. I insisted that they clean it up, but after an hour of yelling at each other and throwing things (they wouldn't stop arguing over whose fault it was and thus who had to do the most cleaning), I banished them from the kitchen and charged them money to clean it up myself. Did I mention that I really, really hate mopping?
I need six more sets of eyes-- or security cameras that automatically monitor my house and set off an alarm when destruction or toddler escapes are in progress. When will they grow out of this? Ever???
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