Three Tiny Tyrants
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11/28/2017 0 Comments Lockdown Brings Out the CrazyIf you believe that the Trio brings on the crazy during the daytime hours, it pales in comparison to the crazy they can produce in a short amount of time during our evening lockdown. It's almost as if the words create a pressing need to expend as much energy as possible prior to shutting their eyes for the night.
I gave the signal and began herding the trio towards the stairs and bathroom for a brief evening wash-down (translation: brush teeth and pee). They herded about as well as a trio of angry cats on their way to a bath. The moment I got one wrangled into the bathroom, another one would disappear in a splash of toothpaste on the walls, giggling at their devious escape from unrotten teeth and not wetting their bed. About 40 minutes in, I finally had Big and Little ready for lockdown. As I finished polishing Big's chompers, surviving two bites in the process, I heard a loud thump followed by an ear splitting shriek that pierced the peaceful evening "calm". I raced down the hallway to they tyrants' bedroom to find Tiny bouncing up and down on the bed while Little wailed and rubbed a small mountain that was forming on his temple. When asked to provide context for the current situation, Tiny nonchalantly informed me that they were playing a game. One person had to leap across both beds, then jump over their brother. Unfortunately, Little's head connected with Tiny's knee. "and now he's out." Tiny coolly continued. Little's whimpers amped up to wails again at the notion that in addition to having a goose egg on his head, he was also out of the game. I comforted Little as I let Tiny know that this game could be added the other banned made up games, including "Push the Boom" (one brother pushes the other brother as he jumps over the head of the third brother) and "Dead Mannequin" (one brother jumps over the prone body of another brother as he tries to grab his feet - are we sensing a pattern here?) Tiny frowned at me and informed me that I hate every game they play, before disappearing into the hall. I responded by telling him to brush his teeth for the 47th time that night. Little made a miraculous recovery as Big burst into the room and both began jumping on the beds, laughing inanely. I sternly pointed to Little's head and reminded them why that was a bad idea as they ignored me and continued bouncing. Hearing the water running for a suspiciously lengthy amount of time, I made my way down the hallway again. This time, I was greeted with half an inch of water covering the counter and spilling onto the floor and Tiny, head and hair covered in soap & water. I rubbed my own temples in search of sanity and asked him what he was doing. Tiny shrieked at the sight of me in the mirror and took off down the hall. I raced to catch him and threw his squirming body into the tub to rinse out the hand soap now dripping into his eyes. Blaming me for the stinging now overwhelming his eye sockets, Tiny yelled in pain as I explained that he brought this upon himself. At that moment, another thump and shriek from the bedroom as Big inevitably fell while jumping. I finished drying Tiny and sent him down to investigate while I attempted to mop up the counter. The crying stopped as I overheard Little say, "Won't she be mad?" Being the only "she" in the house, I walked back down the hall to uncover the latest plot: their newest game designed to cause traumatic brain injuries. Giving up on cleanup duty, I decided instead to immediately lull the trio to sleep with bedtime stories before any further brain damage could occur, hoping the water in the bathroom dries before The Enforcer notices it.
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Over the years we have been together, the tyrants have added to their toolboxes a myriad of methods to drive me to madness. The day I do break and end up headed to the psych ward, I am 100% sure that it will happen during mealtime...
Setting: The kitchen at dinner time. What was cooking? Chicken nuggets, of course. That 10-minutes-in-the-oven golden fried goodness that is one of the few meals all three tyrants are willing to eat. The meal we eat 3-4 times per week. The meal I NEVER ate prior to my incarceration. Oh, how times have changed. Tiny enters the kitchen just as I am shoveling chicken nuggets onto three plastic, segmented plates. He surveys the scene and, upon making visual contact with the nuggets, pointedly looks at me and asks me what's for dinner. I point out the obvious steaming hot chicken nuggets with one oven mitted hand and a look of pure disgust appears upon Tiny's face. He throws back his head with the drama of over-exaggeration and begins to whine, loudly. Big and Little come running at the sound of their leader's battle cry and also ask the obvious question. Again, I point to the chicken nuggets clearly sitting in plates on the counter. More drama ensues times three. I make mention of the fact that when I asked them what they wanted to eat for dinner, all three refused to take a moment of their attention away from their precious toys to answer me. I also mention that I point blank told them all that I was making chicken nuggets and received no negative responses ten minutes ago when that decision was rendered solely by myself because no one else could be bothered to listen to the words emanating from my mouth. Tiny makes a slight concession and walks over to the sad nuggets and proceeds to poke each one with his pointy finger. He melts into tears as he makes his final proclamation. "They're TOO FLOPPY!!!" and with that he picks one up to show me how it bends slightly when held perfectly vertical. I agree to place them back in the oven to crisp them up. "But I'm HUNGRY NOW!" Tiny moans, clutching his stomach as though he hasn't eaten in days. Little dissolves into tears as he also grabs his imaginarily emaciated stomach. The minute my back is turned to the oven, the three make a quick beeline for the pantry of snacks. I whip around to catch them in the act. "NO SNACKS!" I say, eyes narrowed, "These will be ready in five minutes." Tears, moans and whines fill the air, decibels increasing quickly. For the next five minutes, I intermittently cover my ears to save my hearing and blockade the pantry with my body to prevent the horde from snacking. Finally, blessedly, the timer dings on the toaster oven and I pull out the now brown, crisp chicken nuggets. As I place them on the counter for a second time, Tiny furrows his eyebrows at me and frowns with the drama of a sad clown. "They're BURNED!" he wails. Big, occasionally on my side when desperate for food, says that he will eat them. I flash Big a huge, grateful smile and I begin to dish out the nuggets. Little is caught between also wanting to eat and going against the will of his leader's dictatorship. He quietly climbs on his chair and begins banging his fork on the table. A good sign- he will probably eat too. The tide is shifting against Tiny. Tiny, entrenched in his desire to hate chicken nuggets tonight, staunchly refuses to give in. I place nuggets at each tyrants place at the table. Little and Big each take bites of their nuggets and then begin screaming bloody murder as bits of half chewed chicken nugget drip down their chins. "THEY'RE TOO HOT!!!" They scream at me, accusingly, clearly not making the connection between hot oven and hot food. Their wide eyes stare at me as though I betrayed them by feeding them hot food. I calmly tell them to blow on their nuggets before eating them. They demand that I come blow on them for them. Tiny, furious at their betrayal, screams "I HATE CHICKEN NUGGETS. I'M NOT EATING THEM." Through gritted teeth, I point out that he ate these exact chicken nuggets not two days ago and loved them. After blowing on Big and Little's nuggets for a sufficient amount of time, I sit down to dish out my meal of slightly overcooked chicken nuggets. Tiny creeps up to the table and proceeds to manhandle every single nugget on his plate and on the pan before declaring them all inedible. He points to a nugget on his plate that had the unfortunate fate of being misshapen and pouts, "AND SOMEONE TOOK A BITE OUT OF THAT ONE. I'm not eating ANYTHING tonight!" he decrees with flair. I tell him to suit himself and continue to eat my now germ covered, manhandled chicken nuggets. Tiny stares at me, eyes narrow, flopping himself on the floor, wailing with hunger, waiting for me to crack. For five, long, minutes. Then, slowly, silently, he creeps back up to the table and sadly pokes his nuggets in between sniffles. I carefully avoid making eye contact. He slowly picks one up and bites it. He chews thoughtfully. He takes another bite. Then he flashes me his biggest, most maniacal smile. "Mmmm! Yum! I love chicken nuggets!" and proceeds to eat them all up, licking his fingers for finesse. Though chicken nuggets may ultimately be my demise, that day is not today. So, instead of banging my head on the table, I smile back at him, my brain fuzzy and my eyes slightly crazy. But he doesn't notice. Or does he? 11/18/2017 0 Comments Prison Rules #2: You Are Never AloneSometimes, when The Enforcer is downstairs and the tyrants are occupied, I make attempted escapes- usually to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes of peace. Not more than two minutes after my disappearance, I hear Tiny riling up Little by loudly asking him where I am, as if my disappearance lay in the fault of his distraction. The question floats from Little to Big before I hear the sound six small legs stomping up the stairs in search of me, the Enforcer's apathetic pleas to leave me alone going unheeded. Never alone. Not even in the bathroom. I swiftly lock the door, buying myself an extra precious minute to finish the chocolate bar I swiped from Tiny's Halloween bucket downstairs. Unfortunately, Tiny has spent the past year honing his skills with a coat hanger and can now break into the bathroom in less than two minutes. I shove the last bite into my mouth as the door swings open with a crash and the three tyrants tumble inside.
Tiny immediately notices that I am crouched in the corner rather than sitting on the throne and demands to know what I'm doing. I try to swallow the chocolate to answer and that's when his eagle eyes focus on my mouth. His eyes narrow at me in suspicion. "What are you eating?" he asks. I manage to half swallow and inform him that I'm eating a cracker. I ask if he would like one. Big and Little are now climbing on me as if I am a Little Tykes climber, while I show down with Tiny. Tiny, alert to my deception, peers closely at my mouth and insists that I open it so he can see. "That doesn't look like a cracker! It's brown like chocolate or poop!" he declares (because apparently the only brown things I could possibly be eating are chocolate...or poop.) Little thinks this is hilarious. "Are you eating POOP?" he laughs as he squeezes open my cheeks. Big's ears perk up at the word "chocolate". Before I can answer, Tiny decrees, "If you're eating chocolate, then we get to have chocolate!" and with that 3 sets of tiny legs sprint off in search of their Halloween buckets. Not prepared to reign in three sugar high candy addicts, I know that I must stop them. I finish swallowing the last of my glorious chocolate bar and run to catch up. My me time is over. "One!" I shout after them. "You can have one!" I hear squeals of delight and furniture falling to the ground as they race to the kitchen. Tiny has his candy spread out on the table as he counts it up. "I have 8." He says, thinking carefully. He looks at me. "Did you eat one of mine?" he roars in his deepest dragon voice. Never a fool, I shake my head. "Nope." I say, eyes wide with innocence. "You had 8 yesterday, remember?" (Did I mention that I'm a compulsive liar now?) Tiny doesn't remember, but he won't show me that weakness. "Yeah" he decides, shaking his head in agreement, "I had 8 yesterday." I carefully help him choose one to eat and then remove the buckets from the clutches of the three before they can sneak more candy, deftly pocketing two more chocolates for later. I lick the last sweet droplets of chocolate from my lips as I liken it to the sweet taste of victory and plot my next escape. 11/11/2017 1 Comment Mugshots are MandatoryIt's the time of year when mugshots are necessary in order to spread cheer over the coming weeks. I forewarned the trio that the mugshots were coming, even based the color scheme around the singular pair of pants that Tiny agreed to wear for the 20 minutes of torture. I preset this fact to their stone cold faces all week as I told them that the photos were Saturday. Friday night, I laid out the clothes, meticulously chosen, washed (I hoped) and ready to go.
Saturday morning arrived and the clock began ticking down to our MTD (mandatory time of departure). Upon waking, Tiny loudly announced that he WOULD NOT be wearing the gray pants that were picked out for him. Thus began an hour and a half of persuasion. It began with kindness and rainbows (It's only for 20 minutes, then you can take them right off); then we veered into not-so-kind (WE PICKED THESE PANTS OUT A MONTH AGO!) as I chased a maniacally laughing undie-clad Tiny around the house attempting to forcibly put the gray pants on; to, finally, my only real bargaining chip when negotiating with the tyrants: bribery (through gritted teeth- listen, if you just wear these pants for 20 minutes and smile, you can have a bunch of your Halloween candy!!). With a compromise on the table and 3 minutes left to MTD, I quickly dressed Big and Little, leaving myself a hot, fresh minute to remember to brush my hair and throw in a hair barrette. Tiny sat upon his throne in the car, eyes gleaming with the anticipated sugar rush to come, checking my bag to ensure that the lollipop, candy bar and skittles he chose were all accounted for as he intermittently pulled at his pants and threatened to take them off then and there. I immediately informed Tiny that if he broke his end of the treaty, I would be eating all of the candy we brought with us as we drove home. ALL OF IT. Tiny, sensing that he was playing with fire, retreated from the pants-removal threats. As we rolled into the studio and were greeted warmly- the trio immediately went into frozen oppossum mode, refusing to remove their coats and shoes as I yanked them off of their stiff limbs. We managed to get into position and possibly managed to get just one shot of everyone looking in the general direction of the photographer, perhaps looking slightly angry, but looking nevertheless. Calling that a win, I stood up to dance like a monkey (no seriously- I danced like a monkey) in an effort to elicit at least a smile from Tiny, Big and Little as they sat for their individual mugshots. Pretty sure I heard Tiny muttering under his breath as I squealed and pranced about. With 20 minutes of flashing lights over, we made it back to the car where Tiny ripped off his pants and the three immediately dove into their promised candy bars in a sugar anticipated rage. Wrapper and chocolate fragments flew as the frenzied shark feeding both began and ended within two minutes. Now, with hyped up, sugar addicts bouncing around the backseat, The Enforcer and I decided it was a grand idea to head to the grocery store. I should have foreseen it in their wide, glazed eyes and twitching muscles but alas, we entered the store. The trio made a straight beeline to the samples section of the store and began demanding and devouring before I could stop them. Then, faces dripping with apple and orange sludge, off they ran, screeching inanely up and down the aisles. The Enforcer and I silently communicated the "divide and conquer" strategy as he focused on the necessary purchases while I chased down the rabid trio. I turned the corner to find them in the glass jar aisle of jams. Fearing for the lives of all the jam jars on the shelves, I quietly whispered to them, the way I might coax a cornered fox so as to get them to follow me without making any sudden movements that would spell disaster for the glass jars lined up so perfectly behind them. They stared back at me, sensing the power they held the longer they stood, twitchy and hyper, next to those jars. Finally, I whispered, "more samples!" and off they ran down the aisle, searching for the sample section once again. I turned the corner again, now to find Little laying, belly down, on the concrete floor turning in circles while Big and Tiny jumped over his prone body. Shoppers stopped and stared. The crash was coming. I needed to get them away from crowds before the inevitable meltdowns began. I quickly scooped up the tiniest tyrant and herded the other two back to the samples. Suddenly, they screeched to a halt and stood, awestruck, in front of a cheese fountain and a very nice man handing out samples of chips dipped in the cheese melt. Only it wasn't cheese. It was organic, vegan veggie puree disguised as cheese. Little snatched up a sample in his sticky, orange covered hands. Then another. Then another. Brazened by Little's bold move, Big took a sample too. He touched his tongue to the chip then attempted to put it back. Luckily, I arrived in time to stop him from contaminating the table and managed to get Little to eat the sample. Big then asked for just a chip, which the man politely obliged. As he reached his hand toward the bag for another, and aware that we were wearing out our welcome, I grabbed a jar of the polite man's vegan veggie puree disguised as cheese and made a break for the cashier, where I had spotted The Enforcer, thankfully paying for our purchases. I hand signaled to him that we'd meet him in the entry way and managed to corral the feral three towards the doors. Finally, back in the car and on the verge of their triple sugar crash, we headed for home, relief at the thought that another week's shopping was in the bag and we had yet again avoided complete disaster (I'm thinking about you, glass jam jars). There are certain unspoken rules of survival that I have learned during my time in the clink. Rules that range from the exact steps to follow when saying goodbye (one hug & kiss; then a final hug & kiss; then wave the whole way down the driveway...THE WHOLE WAY DOWN THE DRIVEWAY!) to precisely how to word my sentences when presenting something that I wish for the trio to partake in. Today was no different...
I was busy in the kitchen making a trio favorite (favorite as in one of the few meals they all will eat) of hamburgers when Tiny happened to walk through. I told him we were having burgers when he spotted the cheese sitting on the counter and demanded to know why it was there. Then, curses, he spotted the plain burgers sitting rightnextto the cheese burgers on the pan. Knowing what was about to come, I quickly used my well learned sleight of hand to grab a plain burger and pop it on a plate. The dramatics began as Tiny moaned that he couldn't possibly be expected to eat a burger that touched a cheeseburger!! Immediately, I produced the plate with the plain burger and the compulsive lying began. "Look see? I cooked yours on a different pan!" I quickly spit out. Tiny arched his eyebrows at me. "A different pan?" he said, dubiously. "Yes!" I shook my head vehemently, praying he wouldn't ask to see it. "You cooked it on a different pan?" he said again, trying to catch me in my lie. The sweat of deception poured from my brow as I held out the plain burger on a plastic blue plate. "Fine!" he said, as he flounced away. I breathed a sigh of relief, but unbeknownst to me, that was only the first lie. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Little climbing up the cabinet like a starving squirrel desperate to reach some food. Before I could grab him, Big rumbled through the kitchen pushing his giant, metal tractor directly over my foot. I stepped back in pain as Little, the victorious squirrel, found the snacks in the cabinet and began tearing them open in a fit of hunger. I desperately tried to convince him that his cheeseburger was ready. "No, I want a cheese sandwich" was the reply as he dragged his prize bag of chips to the dinner table where Tiny was loudly wondering why there was no ketchup on his plain burger. I somehow convinced Little that his dinner was indeed a cheese sandwich (it was a cheeseburger). Big wanted chocolate milk in his cup, I told him it was all gone (mental note- drink the rest of the chocolate milk after the trio is asleep). Little wanted to know why the buns looked "different". I told him they were the exact same buns we always use (nope, they were English Muffins). Finally, blissfully, they began to eat and all was calm....for at least 5 zen-like minutes.... 11/7/2017 2 Comments One of My Captors is a Blue BeltI picked the 3 tiny tyrants up from their respective schools today and we headed over to one of our extra curricular activities. Since the Dojo is nearly next door to Big & Little's school, I packed a few bars and excitedly told the trio that we were going to have a picnic in Blue Bessie. Tiny scowled at me and declared that he HATES picnics inside Blue Bessie and only likes picnics outside. I pointed out that it was raining (not to mention cold) and that a picnic outside would be wet and miserable. Tiny considered this for a moment and then agreed that we were permitted to eat inside as long as everyone remained in their car seats. No one was to sit on the floor. Big chose that moment to announce that HE was going to sit on the floor. Thus began a screaming match between Tiny and Big until I finally presented the compromise that Big eat in his seat and then sit on the floor until it was time for class. Tiny reluctantly agreed that this was ok, as he rejected the bar I packed for him yet scarfed down the piece of Halloween candy in his bag. He then dramatically began squirming in his seat, complaining about his tummy aching. The agony of the tummy ache continued, increasing in decibel level until I finally found a crumpled package of fruit snacks at the bottom of my backpack, which Tiny assured me would cure his ills. With "dinner" complete, we headed inside.
You would recognize Tiny at the Dojo as the only tyrant wearing his belt and street clothes. He rejected the uniform from day one claiming it was "too white". The Dojo, witness to my attempts to get him to wear the uniform, up to and including forcibly putting the pants on him as he instantly tore them off and ran screaming down the sidewalks of the mini mall, barefoot and clad only in undies, was blissfully flexible on the uniform front. As we shuffled into the inmate section of the Dojo, I handed Big and Little their toy trucks and we settled in for the class. Moments into it, however, Little loudly announced to me that he had to poop. Desperately, I asked him if he could hold it for a bit because Tiny was scheduled to test up that day for his next belt. Besides that, Tiny's eagle eyes always watch me in the mirror to ensure that I never leave the inmate section. Little agreed and began driving his truck up and down the benches in front of the visiting inmates from nearby prisons (aka OPs or Other Parents). Mere minutes later, a rank smell began to descend upon the Dojo. Little, blissfully unaware of the odors emanating from his bottom, continued to drive his truck around while loudly vrrrming it along. I quickly tried to de-deuce (ha- get it??) whether or not I had spare undies and pants in the car while carefully avoiding the eyes of the OPs who had surely overheard our conversation. Luckily, I discovered it was only gas, though Little was far from done crop dusting the area. The next excrutiating 20 minutes consisted of the other inmates shifting uncomfortably in their seats, silently begging me to take him away as I pretended not to notice that stench in the air. The sweat beaded on my brow as I considered my options and counted down the minutes to the end of class. At long last, Tiny leveled up, class ended, and I herded the trio into the bathroom, sure the OPs left behind were silently judging my parenting as they gasped for fresh air. As we headed home, into the night, I made mental notes to pack spare clothes to keep in Blue Bessie, just in case... 11/5/2017 1 Comment Prison LifeIf you are reading this, then you now know that we have adjusted to prison life with the three tiny tyrants. They oversee and rule every aspect of our lives. Their leader is Tiny. Tiny rules on whims and revels in pointing out our failures each day. Tiny is surrounded by his #1 and #2 in charge, Big and Little, respectively. Big and Little are in a constant battle for the approval of Tiny and follow his decrees in the hopes that Tiny will reward them with a morsel of praise. They follow in his footsteps. They mimic his tantrums. They echo his words. We are imprisoned by this trio ruling oligarchy.
This morning began like any other. Tiny awoke, happy to be awake, as I heard him singing in his bed. As I opened the door to his bedroom, he even greeted me with a good morning. Big and Little rolled and moaned in their beds, and, even though I made every attempt to remove Tiny from his bedroom without disturbing Big and Little, they woke up anyway. It was probably from Tiny gleefully running across their beds (narrowly missing their sleeping heads) despite a stern warning from me to quietly come into the hallway. Tiny's mood quickly changed for the worse when I suggested that he use the bathroom before heading downstairs. At this point, Big and Little were both crying to be carried out of the bedroom and to the bathroom. Once I had successfully wrangled all three into the bathroom, they decided that a laser fight of urine was in order. Thankfully, most of the "lasers" wound up in the actual toilet, with very little on the floor and walls. This was one of their more successful "laser fights". Upon reaching the kitchen, Tiny decreed that today should be a pancake day. Since Tiny refuses to eat pancakes unless they are plain and shaped like a heart, I set about making a plain batch of heart shaped pancakes, followed by blueberry for Big, Little and my prison-mate a.k.a The Enforcer. The Enforcer's role is interesting. He, too, is ruled over by the trio, yet he occasionally overthrows their authority by banishing them to a time out in their bedroom. After breakfast, I left the Enforcer to clean up the kitchen while I went upstairs to get dressed for the day. My captors immediately began searching the house for me, happily finding me hiding in my closet within 5 minutes of my departure from the kitchen. Believing that I was playing a game of hide and go seek, they were more than happy to hide in my closet while I began getting dressed (while counting out loud). Unfortunately, my dressing took too long and they burst from the closet (grabbing most of my folded clothing with them) just as I finished brushing my teeth (I guess I stopped counting...). I kicked the clothing back into the closet with a note to self to fold the clothes again (or more likely, throw them back in the dirty laundry pile to be washed again for no real reason other than I can't be bothered to fold them again). In an effort to get Tiny to put on clothes (he generally refuses to get dressed), the Enforcer and I decided to take the trio to the playground. This carrot worked for Big and Little as they immediately got changed into pants, shirts, coats, hats and shoes. Tiny, panicked by his authority being overthrown, began screaming and refusing to get dressed. It was at this point that Little discovered my sinister plans to throw his rotting Halloween pumpkin into the woods in the backyard. He went into complete meltdown mode, determined to foil my plot of keeping moldy vegetables from completely decaying on our front porch. I am sorry to say that I gave in and assured him that his pile of mold and decay slightly resembling a Jack o'Lantern could stay where it was for a few more days. If you're looking for me, just follow the scent of rotting pumpkin flesh. That's my porch. By the time Little got over his meltdown, Tiny decided to get dressed in shorts and a t-shirt to head to the playground (it's 40 degrees out). The Enforcer and I decided to let Tiny learn the error of his ways (since he ignored our pleas to put on more weather appropriate clothing) and packed him a coat, gloves and pants for the inevitable meltdown that was to come when Tiny discovered that it was indeed too cold outside for shorts and a t-shirt. With the three tiny tyrants fed, dressed and in the car, we are calling it a win as we head out to Sunday at the playground. |
AuthorAnna Christine is a working mother of three boys. She is a teacher, writer, learner, and a fierce advocate for inclusion. Writing is her catharsis for the tough days of parenting. Her writing has appeared on ScaryMommy: Archives
January 2019
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