jetsetgreen

Friday, October 26, 2007

At First I Was Afraid...

Have you ever woken up to a normal day and your child woke up to crazy? You’re not sure what happened, you’re pretty sure you did nothing untoward, but your child decided that this day would be the day that they would lose.their.mind?

You should know that it takes me a while to unpack from a trip. I have the best intentions of getting everything done the night I arrive home, but it never happens. Then I convince myself it will be done the very next morning, which of course it isn’t. That’s why yesterday we still had two pieces of (gorgeous) DVF Signature luggage sitting in our living room, reminding me of my inadequacies every time I glanced in the direction of the door. Every few minutes El Guille would bring me one item from the luggage, as if it was the greatest prize in the world, “Look what I have for yoooouu!”

Yes, a onesie. Yes, some goldfish crackers. Yes, my headphones—hey, put those down! Put DOWN those chocolates. Put DOWN that DVD player right away! NO! Don’t drop it! You little, you GET to your room!

Just as I’d gotten Proximo to sleep in my arms, Guille came up to me with a small box of chocolates and said, “What are these?” and before I could stop him, he was shoveling the mini pralines into his mouth with both hands, snorting like a PIG at the same time. Yell and wake the baby? Settle for a crusty and whispered threats through your clenched teeth? It’s a hard call. I went with option two. I honestly thought that if I remained under the same roof as the DVD player-dropping child I might lose it. Every little thing he did seemed a calculated move in a chess game. I don’t know if you’ve ever done battle with a three-almost-four-year-old, but it’s brutal: the spitting, the kicking, the screaming, the repetitive beeping at full volume. There are no rules, in fact, it’s not like a chess game at all, it is a cage match.

That’s how adults spend their 10th wedding anniversary: trying to survive the product of the celebrated union.

In El Guille’s defense, he did find a receiving blanket and bring it to Proximo, laying the fabric on the baby and saying, “There, now you’re nice and cold.” Close, bud, close.

This morning he decorated the carpet…no not with anything from the fridge, at least not directly. “I burped,” he said sadly, indicating the vomit all over the floor, his bear, his hair, neck, ears, actually his entire person. If I didn’t want to replace the carpets before, I sure do now. A sick kid is better than a crazy kid, in the hierarchy of things. That’s what I kept telling myself as I rinsed the rags and cleaned the bucket out every 45 minutes.

21 comments:

Erica said...

"That’s how adults spend their 10th wedding anniversary: trying to survive the product of the celebrated union." lol, well said.

PS Kids are scary.

Marilyn said...

That does sound like a very scary, hair-raising day.

"I burped" was my favorite line. That is classic.

fijiangirl said...

Poor guy! I hope he is feeling better. I think I am going to start calling that a burp as well. Too funny.

April said...

Kids are so psycho--I mean cute! No, I was right the first time.

Marie said...

Maybe send him off to live in FL with the old people for a few months. He'll shuffle back to you with no greater ambition than to watch reruns of Golden Girls all day.

In all seriousness, I'm really sorry. Good luck.

Kalli Ko said...

take comfort in the fact that you can always plead "not guilty by reason of insanity".

Works 47% of the time... every time.

Emily said...

I have a similar unpacking inadequacy. And I'm sure there are worse things, but cleaning up vomit is way up there on my list of Not Fun in Parenthood. Especially in the car.

Good luck. Happy anniversary, too, if it's this month.

sarah k. said...

Sick kids are better than crazy kids for sure. I've currently got one of each. But the carpet? I don't know what to tell you. Keep the crappy stuff until the youths can consistently make it to the toilet, or at the very least, a bowl, in time. And buy a big bucket of Febreeze.

Rynell said...

Sickness or disaster always strikes on our anniversary. Really. That's how it goes in our family. I wonder incredulously at couples who actually celebrate on their own...away from those products of their union. Sounds peaceful and surreal and foreign to me.

sue-donym said...

"the spitting, the kicking, the screaming, the repetitive beeping at full volume"?

You might want to rethink your parenting style.

Oh wait, you were talking about Guille?

Julie said...

Urgh! Barfy kids are the worst.

We've given up trying to celebrate our anniversary anywhere near the actual day of the event.

La Yen said...

Crazy are better because you can beat them without guilt. Sick kids just look all forlorn during the beatings.

Julie said...

Oh, that was CLASSIC! La Yen is awesome!

compulsive writer said...

All the brilliant comments were taken, so I'll just be practical.

And tell you I hope he feels better soon.

Suzie Petunia said...

Hey, how did you get inside MY head??

Azúcar said...

Well, you're my new best friend!

Whitney said...

I think it must of been this day. It is the day my 2 year old got a chair, climbed up a book shelf, took all of the dvd's out of the cases and dumped baby powder on them. Then he found a bag of pretzels and topped it off with them. Lucky I was working, or maybe that is the problem.

Sue said...

Hey, I thought I was your new best friend!!!?! (I KNEW I was on blog vacation for too long.)

You KNOW I'm with you on the repetitive beeping. Vomit doesn't make me feel sorry for kids. My kids can vomit at will, just to get out of stuff. Don't fall for it.

"There are no rules, in fact, it’s not like a chess game at all, it is a cage match." Ha!

Azúcar said...

You're my new old best friend. I think. This is getting confusing.

BEEP


BEEEP


BEEEEEP

Am'n2deep said...

When my first child turned three, I almost (and probably should have) turned myself in for child abuse, by the time my second turned three I was in some kind of parental shock. After this God gave me a sebattical from toddlers. So a decade or so later when the third turned three, I made a definite decision: I WON'T BE DOING THAT AGAIN!

RC Cola! said...

Poor sugar. Poor little guy. Poor carpet.

Gross.