Some background information: we have a door to a walk-through bedroom which is the “do not touch the door” door. You see, for ventilation purposes and because I really can’t stand my children playing with doors (it’s the ER doctor’s wife in me, I suppose), I continually remind my children “please do not touch that door.” Plus that particular door has three cup hooks screwed into the back of it which have been painted over at least 3 and a half dozen times, thus making them now permanent fixtures. And these same cup hooks are conveniently placed at a child’s eye level—thus creating an eye-injury hazard if a child were to be playing near this swinging door with all the stars rightly aligned and his eyes open to the haphazardly affixed hooks (again, my extensive proxy emergency medical experience rears it’s ugly and perhaps overly-cautious head). Generally the boys are good about not touching this door, but the continual reminders continue. . .
Okay, onto the next not-so-obvious, but related topic. . .Our 2 year old is still very much a pacifier baby. He loves his “cho-cho” (pronounced sort of like “choo-choo”, but with a long ‘o’ sound). He needs it. I need it. We all need it. Now, he doesn’t need it all of the time or even most of the time during the day, but nap times and bed times are definitely “need it” times. . .
Scenario. . .yesterday was a very long day. We had to get up early to pick up one of our cars at the shop before Matt went to work. After that, the boys had swim lessons. After swim lessons we spent a couple more hours at the pool. We came home to a late lunch and the boys took relatively quick naps (while Mommy showered) so that we could hurry up and get ready go to the store to buy batteries for a gift which we then had to deliver along with No. 1 to a neighborhood pool across town for a birthday party. While No. 1 was at the birthday party (and not wanting to crash it with No. 2 and No. 3 in tow) I decided to pick up dinner and settle at a nearby park for the little boys to eat and play while we waited for the 6pm until 8pm party to conclude. We picked up No. 1 from his fete just about the time No. 2 and No. 3 began their I-totally-just-missed-my-bedtime meltdown in the car on the way home. This became the sort of meltdown which, upon placing the car in park in our driveway, prompted me to sprint from the car directly to the pantry to grab a handful of the forbidden (yet wholly medicinal) chocolate covered raisins. Yeah, it was a long day.
This long day crashed smack dab into nighttime. As the Queen of Quickbath (this is an actual name my children call me) scrubbed up the royal princes, dressed them, and got them to their beds in record time, she realized that all of the royal coffers were emptied of the youngest prince’s much needed nighttime accoutrement—there was not a cho-cho to be found. No amount of chocolate covered raisins could fix this problem.
I looked high and low. Matt came home from his long day to find me at the end of my long day and at the end of my rope. He joined in the search. He looked higher and lower. Still nothing. We were desperate. I implored St. Anthony (who has never failed me) for his prayers of intercession on my behalf. No. 3 intermittently cried out from his bed, “Maaaaaaaamaaaaaa, I neeeeeeeed cho-cho. . .neeeeeeeed cho-cho.” This went on for a great many minutes as we continued the search into the outer reaches of our domain. In Matt’s quest, he had located a pacifier-ish item on the floorboard of one of the cars. I suppose this particular thing could be considered a pacifier, yet my baby wasted no time in letting me know that the pack of two which I picked up for a buck at the dollar store to keep in the car for emergencies were, in fact, not cho-chos. One happy aside from his protest is that I recall taking note that he has a very nice throwing arm. Thus, it lay on the floorboard under a seat amidst the stale goldfish and petrified french fries for an undisclosed amount of time until being rescued at this late hour. Returning to the house with the item in hand, Matt made a straight line for the boys' room with all we had to offer.
Happily and much to our surprise, and probably attributable to his own long day induced delirium, the baby accepted the thing. I vowed to buy stock in Nuk the very next day.
Today is that day. And upon drinking my first cup of coffee this morning, I heard a certain gleeful hub-bub in the adjacent walk-through bedroom. I moved toward the sounds. Remember that door. . .the door never to be touched? Remember that cho-cho. . .the cho-cho never to be found?
1 comment:
You're a hoot, girl! However, its good to hear that even your kiddos have major meltdowns, too. Makes me feel nice and normal :)
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