Three is the new Two
"Tom. Oh, Tommy! Why?!?!" Although I say these particular phrases 700 times in a day, I must point something out: "Why?!?!" is a really poor choice of question for a parent of a three-year-old. Anyone who has been in the trenches of parenting a child this age DOES NOT want to know the answer to "Why?!?!". The answer is disturbing, frustrating, distracting and occassionally funny. And, trust me, the funny answer is the one that will get you in trouble. If that three-year-old senses, in any way, shape, or form that you thought that he was the slightest bit funny...your day is done. He will find the next "funniest" thing to amuse himself (and you) with. DANGER rears its ugly head. Then we parents are in trouble.
I was doing laundry this past week. Sarah and Joseph were helping. The littles were in the adjoining playroom. (Side note*: I LOVE that our laundry room is right next to our playroom. I can just leave the door open and ref the game from the sidelines. So good.) Well, I thought they were in the playroom. Why were they being so quiet? I put the blockade up at the bottom of the stairs...they couldn't have escaped. Wait! What is that noise? Is that Thomas giggling? Oh no! I ran into the bathroom (which is also adjoining the playroom) and Thomas and Nathan were standing next to the toilet laughing. Thomas had the trash can from the bathroom upside-down and above his head, shaking all the contents into the toilet...as Nathan flushed them away. Or not away...because Mommy had to find rubber gloves and the plunger and pull dryer lint, dirty diapers, floss, wipes, empty toothpaste tubes, etc. out of the toilet before it overflowed. I grabbed one boy under each arm and put them on the couch in the playroom. The answer to the question "why?!?!" for this one: "Nathan wants to go on the potty train."
As I was plunging the toilet and saying a prayer for patience (in the best way I knew how, at that exact moment), I heard more giggling. I finished up as quickly as possible, washed my hands, ran into the playroom and found that Tom had emptied (with Nate's help) an entire jumbo box of disposable diapers. Not only did it look like there was a blizzard from the baby department at Target, but Tom had turned on the ceiling fan and was chucking said diapers into the blades to get them to fly around the room at top speed, hitting random things. I know this sounds innocent, but a diaper as a projectile is never a good thing. The answer to the question "why?!?!" for this one: "Nathan told me to do it."
Yes, they helped me clean up. And soon after, they were banished from the bottom floor of the house. I thought maybe they needed something productive to do. Maybe they were bored. So I asked them to help me empty the dishwasher. I opened the dishwasher door and explained the rules. "You may get out your own cups and plates and silverware and put them in the children's cupboard." After I took away the steak knife that Tom was brandishing like a pirate (of course it was the first thing he reached for), we were all set. I quickly confiscated all sharp utensils and breakable dishes. This was something that both of them had helped me do NUMEROUS times. They LOVE putting things away. They love stacking their cups. They LOVE the children's cupboard. I am soooooo clever, I thought. Tom decided he was going to "pass" all the dishes and things to Nathan...and then they would play soccer with the cups that landed haphazardly on the floor. The answer to the question "why?!?!" for this one: "I don't know."
I know it seems as though I cannot control or keep an eye on my own child. Many people may think that this is because I have more children than I can keep track of. Let me assure you, if Tom were my ONLY child, I was a stay-at-home mom, my house were already clean, my laundry was already done, and my shower was taken before he woke up, Thomas would STILL have found some way to:
~ Draw on my walls with a permanent marker
~ Wet himself and hide his wet underwear and pants in the stereo speakers
~ Accuse our pet tortoise of being fat and bang on the glass cage
~ Pump all the soap from the bathroom sink into a drinking cup for someone else to discover
~ Pull the pillows off the couch and jump from the highest window sill onto his "landing pad"
~ Hide Lego pieces under the piano keys
~ Slide down the back of the tub and spill 3 inches of water on my bathroom floor.
That all happened in one day. I know you don't believe me. But it did.
So I call Matt at work and cry: "I can't leave Thomas with a babysitter. He is too dangerous. We haven't been out on a date in months. I have put him in 15 1/2 time outs today. The 1/2 was for the time where he told me he had to go potty during his time out...and he went on the floor...so I had to clean it up...and he didn't do his time because he said he had to 'make more'...but he never ended up staying on the potty while I bleached the floor...he went up to his room and stripped his bed...and put the sheets on top of Nathan...and Nathan started screaming...and that is how I found a streaking Tom and a sheet ghost in the upstairs hallway. And I have had two pots of coffee. I think I brushed my teeth. I haven't used the bathroom since yesterday. I can't get any chores done because I can't take my eyes off this child. I sat him in a time out on top of the washing machine as I was folding laundry...and he took the spot cleaner from the shelf and started spraying me with it. MATT, I am at the end of my rope. Can we please buy one of those portable dog gates? I just need to know that he is safe while I go to the bathroom. The last time I brought him in the bathroom with me. And he pulled all the floss out of the container and ran around the house with it, trying to 'lasso' things." And I think I hear Matt chuckling on the other end of the phone. And I am grateful that we are only on the phone, because he may not have survived if he laughed to my face.
