I am racking my brain. Something happened one month ago and I’m trying to put my finger on it. Was it a change in temperature? Did I start serving a side of rocket fuel along with dinner? Were we on some type of bus that exceeded 50 MPH and now we’re crazy? All I know is that I used to have a sweet, smart, bilingual boy who loved to play and imagine. I now have in my possession a hellion of epic proportions (who is still bilingual.)
Here he is by the numbers:
1 of mineral oil poured on wool rug
2 of Alcon Contact Lens Solution (expensive) on bathroom counter and sink
1 of shampoo, location of contents unknown, empty vessel left as only evidence
1 of honey on coffee table, computer cords, carpet
2 of salt, kitchen counter, floor, over trains, and phone
1 shipping to be returned with shoes, appropriated to become Guille Turtle's shell and destroyed
2 lbs of flour, carried by train (Gordon) details here
6 lbs of flour, carried by empty cereal bowl into living room, kitchen, hallway, and several bowls of in bathroom (sink, floor, tub)
1 countertop flooded with water, radio in the center
1 bag of chips for baking scattered strategically in kitchen, living, and bathroom. Most chips are mixed with flour. Mom not amused at half-hearted baking.
1 very large flower pot on back balcony, broken into bits (more to come on that)
1 hole in drywall that he made by slamming door knob into wall and then picking at to make larger
1 orange crayon, used on all doors, entertainment center, glass surfaces, and CARPET
2 necklaces (favorites) busted into parts
My lucky stars that my stash of Sharpies hasn’t been found
He doesn’t know about ball point pens or tubes of acrylic paint
The past 24 hours have been the worst.
Yesterday morning was the 6 lbs of flour that migrated like a fast paced glacier over the landscape of my home, taking chip rubble with it. In the afternoon I was feeding the baby when I heard a gong sound--like the sound that my awnings make when they hit the exterior railing. I knew it wasn’t the front railing, which meant it could only be my neighbors, or our rear railing. I put the baby down and went to my room. Why check Guille’s room? He’s asleep for his nap.
I drew the drape a little to look onto the balcony and there El Guille was, standing over the remains of a very large terracotta pot and a pile of dirt. He was picking up the pottery shards, the dirt, and hurling them into my neighbor’s backyard below us. Nekkid, covered head to toe with black dirt. I ran into his room and tried to talk him into coming inside (I can’t go out and get him because I’m in my skivvies.) I cajole and then threaten him to get his dirty cola back into my house. I want to throttle him. I don’t. Other Half comes home that minute and tells me he will take care of it. I drive back to work fuming.
This morning Other Half came to wake me up at 7 and said, “El Guille isn’t in his bed.” WHAT? OH immediately runs out the door as I am blearily trying to locate some jeans. I run out the door just to be faced with OH pushing El Guille in his jammies, bed head, and barefeet, into the condo. “I went to see if Joey could play.” At 6:45 AM.Yeah, I’m that mom, the mom whose child is found barefoot and in a diaper by the side of the freeway.
“The officers interviewed the mother and found that she had been sleeping when the child slipped out of the unlocked apartment. The mother is being held for questioning. The child was put into rehab because he must be out of his mind.”