Crisis Intervention

Tommy had a rough day today.

First, I served him bananas for breakfast, at his request.
And milk, at his request.
And cheerios, at his request.

A fifteen minute tantrum ensued. All the food landed on the floor or in my hands. My reflexes have gotten quite good since becoming a parent. I salvaged most of the banana. I let him down from the high chair and he flung himself on the ground. He kicked. He screamed. "I WANT NANA!!" Dude. You had a banana. You threw it on the floor. And now it's next to your head. I should probably pick that up before you roll on it and smush it into the carpet.

After he cried himself out I put him back in the chair. With the same banana. The same milk. And about half of the original cheerios. He ate them happily.

Then, I stole his Blankie.
AND I WASHED IT.

End.Of.The.World.

He didn't find out until after Blankie had made it to the dryer. I was super sneaky. I almost managed without him being the wiser. But he happened to go upstairs about 10 minutes before it was ready to come out of the dryer.

And, well, you can see for yourself what happened. Being the bad mom that I am, I ran for the video camera to video tape his woes. Luckily for your ears, you missed the best of the screaming. While I was getting the camera, Lucy stepped in and talked Tommy down from the cliff.

Thank heavens for big sisters. Lucy deserves an award for that one. 

And I deserve an award for catching it on tape. Because not only is the video 47 seconds of charming toddler comedy gold, but it provided HOURS of entertainment this afternoon.

"That's CiCi! That's my Tommy! He's crying. My Tommy is sad. But I talked to him about the laundry and he's all happy now. See Tommy. That's you. But you don't need to cry. Your Blankie is okay. Hi Another CiCi! Hi Crying Tommy! Mommy play it again! Again! Again!"

And Tommy's comment: "Blankie! Baby! Again!"

After that, I made five more videos. You never know when you'll have a crisis.

A Case of the Mondays

Yesterday was one of THOSE days.

The first thing I saw when I left the bedroom was THIS CAT peeing on the floor.

I should have taken the hint and gone back to bed.

Instead I got up and tried to feed, diaper, and dress a two month old and twenty two month old simultaneously. There was a lot of crying. And a lot of exclamations of "Lucy don't touch that!"

Lucy was having a destructive morning. Hurricane Lucy was a category 5. She dumped out all her toys. She cleaned out all my cabinets. She reorganized bookshelves. She found every wire, pen, crayon, sharp object, choke hazard, and rotten sippy cup in the house.

I said "Lucy don't touch that!" a lot. She got put in timeout a lot. There was a lot of crying. The pile of things forbidden objects on the dining room table reached over my head. So finally I decided to take the kids for a drive. Maybe they would sleep. At the very least they would both be confined in carseats and I wouldn't have to chase them or listen to crying. Then I went to get in the car and realized that Peter took Lucy's carseat with him to work. Oops. 

NAPTIME for everyone!!

After the nap, we all were in a better mood.

For about five minutes, and then I fed Lucy her snack. She dumped it all over the floor. Especially her milk. There were no rags to clean it up with because they're all in the laundry. So I grabbed the nearest thing - a washcloth. I cleaned up the mess, then changed Lucy's diaper. A very full, nearly blowout diaper. Unfortunately, Lucy was feeling helpful. So she grabbed the washcloth and used it to wipe. I took it away and put it in the laundry. Then I threw away the dirty diaper. THEN I came back in the room to find Lucy with the poopy washcloth, using it like a washcloth and rubbing it up and down her arms. BATH TIME!!

Yeah you think she's cute. She's not. And where was Tommy during all this? Whining, fussing, and then screaming bloody murder because he wasn't getting the attention he felt he deserved.

 I thought I'd work on the laundry situation. So I went to move the wet laundry into the dryer. The first thing I pulled out was a bra with pink spots all over it. I didn't even want to know what I washed with the load. I just put it all back in the laundry to worry about later. Anyone know how to get pink spots out of bras? If not, I'll call it leopard print.

When Peter got home from work I dumped the kids on him and went for some retail therapy. I bought chocolate to self-medicate. I tried to eat the chocolate and dumped it all on the floor. At that point I sat down on the floor and cried. What a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad MONDAY!