Three Tiny Tyrants
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12/21/2017 0 Comments Snowplay In The YardWith the cold weather and snow comes the need to layer on the clothing prior to heading out to play. Since the three tiny tyrants who rule this home are seemingly incapable of dressing themselves in the aforementioned appropriate layers, the responsibility to get all three layered up in record time falls to me.
Like the pit crew of a NASCAR race, I line up the necessary parts in the order that they must go on: socks, snowpants, boots, gloves, coat, then hat. I must simultaneously dress the trio in 30 seconds or less, lest a meltdown erupt from their throats like a tiny Mount Vesuvius, from overheating inside the house with layers designed for deep Arctic exploration. Upon waking and seeing the snow, the trio immediately begin begging to go outside. The fresh, crisp snow was beckoning even me, so I finally relented and gave in to the inevitable chore of dressing in layers. I started with the two littlest, quickly working my way in rounds as Tiny waffled between tears and threats over having to wear his snow pants out in the snow (the previous day having gotten away with wearing water shoes - no socks- out in the freezing temperatures as the snow was falling having altered his schema of what outdoor wear in wintertime actually looks like). As I rounded the corner to coats, I hit a snag in my race to the finish. The coats, with the fatal flaw of including built-in hand warmers, WOULD NOT slide over the gloves with ease. I pulled, I yanked, I sweated and swore, yet those coats defied my every action. Finally, Big, fully dressed and starting to whine, was sent outside with strict instructions NOT to leave the porch. Tiny, dressed in one boot, hat askew, and gloves, tore around the house screaming about the unfairness of being forced to wear snowpants in the snow. With one sleeve left to pull on Little, I watched as Big inevitably defied my orders and ran off the porch, the draw of the freshly fallen snow mere feet away too much for even his rule-following heart to abide by. Quickly, I yelled for backup, beckoning The Enforcer with my screams. The Enforcer appeared and reluctantly took over as I sprinted outside to catch up with Big. Tiny, clothing now completely removed, yelling after me that he would not be coming outside to play if he had to wear snowpants. About five minutes later, Little waddles out, one snowgloved hand, one hand awkwardly shoved into a handknit mitten. I shake my head , ready for the inevitable tears to come in a few minutes when the knit glove becomes soaked, wet and cold. Little, oblivious to the flaws in his sad, not-even-water-resistant mitten, dives into the snow with fervor. With that, the two littlest tyrants and I make our best snowman, snowdog and snow angels while Tiny watches from the window, unsure if his inflicted punishment of not coming outside is actually working as he designed.
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12/8/2017 0 Comments Water and WashdownsWashdown is part of the evening that I have a love/hate relationship with. While I love clean, sweet smelling tyrants running around the house, I deplore the efforts it takes to get them to that point. This is probably why I stick to a strict every other day schedule with washdowns....unless they've been in a pool that day....or they've gotten wet when it rained outside....or, if I've convinced myself that really, they aren't all that dirty....
Washdown begins with my luring the trio upstairs with any activity other than a washdown. Then, once I have secured all three in the upper quadrant of our house, within vicinity of the bathroom, I notify them that a bath is in order. Chaos, crying, attempted escapes ensue until I then clarify that their evening T.V. show will not happen until they are clean and, looking at my wrist where a watch should be, I tell them, "Oh, geez. It's getting late. Unless you get in the tub thisveryminute, I'm pretty sure we won't have time for a show." Inevitably, Big complies, followed by Little, who whines about being cold the entire time he disrobes. As soon as a toe touches the water, he shudders and tells me that the water is "too hot." Noticing that Big is now happily playing in the water, I assure him that it will not burn his skin and that if I add cold water, it will be a cold bath. Little tentatively dips another toe in the water and throws back his head to wail, "But it's TOO HOT!" in his best Goldilocks impression. I comply and add the tiniest drip of cold water, to which Little now slips into the bath as he tells me that it's now "Just right." I leave Little and Big in the tub and step outside to track down Tiny, who quietly took off during my tub distraction. When I finally find him downstairs, he looks at me blankly, as though this is the first time he is hearing that it's bath time. Tiny furrows his brow and, in an effort to stall for as long as possible, informs me that he will take a shower after his brothers are done. Now hearing the slosh of water and banging knees, I return to the washroom to find that Big and Little have exited and entered the tub at least a half dozen time, evident by the wet footprints tracked all over the bathroom, in an effort to find their bath toys. At least half of their bath water is now on the floor of the bathroom. I wipe up and quickly wash them down, as I brace myself for the ear splitting shrieks of pain and agony that accompany rinsing their hair of the tear free soap (notice I said Tear-Free. Marketing may want to look into that). Little screams that he needs a washcloth because soap is in his eyes! As I procure a wet washcloth, he grabs it to his face and then screeches that now there's water in his eyes! I can't win. Gently, I dab at his eyes with the corner of a dry towel. All is well. For now. Round two. After several warnings and delays, I finally pull the (drain) plug on Big and Little's bath. I yell to Tiny that his time for a show is running out unless he appears pronto for his shower. Big and Little refuse to leave the tub and insist on taking a shower with Tiny. As Tiny enters the room and overhears this, dramatics ensue until I assure him that I will only allow Big and Little to stay in the shower for one minute. Tiny demands that I time the minute precisely. As the shower turns on and Tiny enters, my peace keeper eyes now blocked by the shower curtain, all chaos breaks out. I hear screams, shouts and bodies banging into the walls as all three clamor to occupy the space directly beneath the water at the same same time. After a few minutes of the shouting, pushing match, I decide it's time to remove the two smaller tyrants from the shower. Now, getting them out is as difficult as getting them in. Both Big and Little adamantly refuse to leave the shower first, insisting that I make the other one get out first. I try all my tricks before settling on my only true parenting friend, bribery. "The first one out of the shower gets a chocolate chip!" I say in my sweetest voice. Instantly, Little jumps out of the shower as Big nearly rips down the curtain and falls flat on his face in an effort to get out first. Tiny begins tearfully whining about the "fairness" of the Little getting a chocolate chip. Plan backfire. Big howls in pain as he rubs his sore knees and throws his drenched body on me. Little starts shivering as I try to wrap towels around both. It's at this point that I notice that the plastic part of the shower curtain is no longer firmly placed inside the bathtub and water is streaming down it and onto the floor creating a massive puddle. My arms full of small boys, I yell to Tiny to pull the curtain back in. He either doesn't hear me or willfully ignores my pleas, as the puddle grows in size and threatens my slippers. Finally, The Enforcer, hearing my distress signal, leaps to the rescue as he darts inside and rights the shower curtain. As quickly as he arrives, he leaves, ignoring the tears and giant puddle on the floor. I quickly manage to calm both smalls, get them jammied up and send both downstairs to The Enforcer for a chocolate chip prize. I count down to water off several times before pulling the plug on Tiny's shower too and tell him too many times that he's not going to get a show as he dawdles around the bathroom, jumping in the puddle on the floor and then complaining that his jammies are wet. For a fourth and final time, I get someone jammied up and send him downstairs, while I enjoy the peaceful silence that is 10 minutes of cleaning up the bathroom after washdown. 12/8/2017 0 Comments Sick days...Wintertime lock up tends to bring out the sickness, as much as we try to safeguard against it. The tyrants steadfastly refuse to use anything that remotely looks like soap and the constancy of fingers in their mouths and faces is a surefire recipe for illness. Not surprisingly, when Tiny began refusing food and slowed from rabbit mode to turtle mode, I knew something was up.
For three days, I catered to every whim and removed television restrictions as I ramped up my tending to his evermore demands. Tiny mentioned he was hungry? I prepared a four course meal of everything I thought he might eat, only to have him take a tiny nibble, say it tasted funny, and then slink back to the couch. Of course, any food substance he touched had to be thrown away, lest the infection spread to the other two. I wrestled his unwilling, feverish body into the tub for a bath. I washed his bedding and bathrobe every morning. I convinced him to drink his medicine and I read aloud every book on our shelf. Meanwhile, Big and Little took every advantage of the limited oversight of any parental unit or their overlord, Tiny. Occasionally, a glimmer of Tiny's power hungry ways would re-surface as he made demands from the couch that they play a game a certain way - even though he wasn't playing. Big and Little would accommodate their leader, then swiftly disappear from his watchful eyes to play the way they wanted to. I waffled back and forth over taking Tiny to the physician, worried they would think me over-vigilant yet worried that his illness was worse than I thought. On day three, I finally broke down and called the doctor. At this point, Tiny seemed to be doing better and was back to bossing his minions around but his insistence upon not eating made me think that he needed to be looked at. I convinced him to get dressed (in pajamas) and pull himself away from his throne upon the couch. Of course, the medical visit yielded nothing more than a common cold but eased my fears, and so was worth the $20 co-pay plus strep test surcharge. By the time we returned home and I played three board games and put together 16 puzzles with the trio, the previous sleepless nights had me seeing double. After reading several books on the couch, I informed the trio that they could rest or play together for 20 minutes so that I could take a cat nap. Little insisted that he was going to rub my head while I napped; which consisted of him intermittently chewing on my hair and yanking it out by its roots. Big played loudly on the floor in front of the couch, occasionally coming over to wake me up and ask me to look for something. I, in turn, requested that he use the eyes that I grew for him to look for it himself. This request did not go over well and resulted in a screaming puddle of tears as Big threw himself on the floor at the unfairness of it all. Between the screams and hair yanking, I did manage to squeeze in a 5 minute power nap, only to be awoken by Tiny's footsteps. "I made myself lunch!" he proudly exclaimed. "I did ok. I didn't spill all over the counter. Or use it all up." These were the major catastrophes from the last time Tiny "made himself lunch". Relieved that he was finally eating but picturing the mess that was left for me to clean up, I decided to stay put for a few more minutes of sleep. Big, ears perked at the words "lunch" stopped crying and decided to go hunting for a snack as well. Little, still thoughtfully chewing on my hair, also decided that he was going to make himself a real lunch made out of something beside hair. At this point, visions of food spilling out of cabinets, open food containers and messes strewn about the kitchen was enough motivation to pull me from the couch, despite my limited nap. As I slinked my tired body to the kitchen, I took note of the necessary cleaning and laundry that needed to be done now that Tiny seemed to be on the mend. For about 30 seconds, I thought about doing it. Then, I called to the trio, "How about an afternoon movie?" and set my sights on my upcoming 1 hour and 20 minute snooze. 12/3/2017 1 Comment Deck the Cells With Boughs of HollyThe day had arrived for our annual trip to the tree nursery to get our Christmas tree. In the thirty minutes leading up to our departure, I asked, reminded, begged and pleaded with Tiny to get dressed to leave. He gleefully ignored me as he streaked from room to room, clad only in his pajama bottoms. Finally, with no other options, The Enforcer and I herded the other two, dutifully dressed tyrants, out the door to the car. As we began strapping them in, I could hear the desperate screams of Tiny as he raced around the house alternating between "Don't leave me!" and "I'm getting dressed!" while he looked for the clean clothing I had placed on his chair thirty minutes prior. Every minute, he would peak out the door to ensure we were still there, an additional piece of clothing on his body. Finally, with Tiny ready and in the car, we headed out.
As we pulled into the lot, I notified the trio that it was 34 degrees outside, so winter coats needed to be worn for our jaunt through the trees. Big and Little agreed, but Tiny, ever defiant, staunchly refused to wear his coat. Clad in pants and a short sleeved T-shirt, he crossed his arms and looked at me. Tiny and I quickly entered into failed negotiations as Tiny continued to staunchly refuse the coat. I instantly informed Tiny that he could not leave the car without his coat. With that decree, Tiny threw himself on the floor of the car. The Enforcer and I silently communicated the "Pretend to Leave Him" protocol as we grabbed Big and Little and closed the doors. The Enforcer took off through the trees with the smaller tyrants while I hid about 10 feet away from the car behind a giant inflatable Santa Claus, because A) I didn't want to get arrested for actual abandonment; and B) I wasn't certain that Tiny would actually remain in the car and not wander through the busy parking lot in search of us. The OP standing by the car next to us, overhearing my conversation with Tiny and watching as I now crouched behind St. Nick's belly, smiled and informed me that "It doesn't get any better" as she gestured toward her three middle school aged tyrants sitting in the backseat of her SUV who were systematically screaming and slapping each other in the head. I gave her a weak smile as the sudden blaring of a horn being laid on made me jump and caught the attention of every single shopper in the packed parking lot. I peered around my inflatable shield to find that it was indeed Tiny inside our car laying on the horn. But alas, his coat was on! I popped out from my hiding spot and ran over to the car, ignoring the stares of strangers. Tiny happily hopped out of the car and grabbed my hand, smiling as if this were normal procedure. As we wound our way around the lot in search of The Enforcer and other two, Christmas spirit filled the air. The spirit of goodwill soon dissipated, however, as Tiny, Big and Little decided that instead of looking at trees with us, it was much more fun to run up and down the aisles hiding in the trees, screaming and jumping out at each other. Other adults and families with small non-walking children (ie. infants) stared at the trio as though they were a foreign concept, and then at me, wondering why I couldn't control them. OP's, like the woman outside, gave me knowing smiles from their tired, tired eyes. At last, tree picked out, we headed inside to pay and have some treats. As we opened the door, Big immediately screeched to a halt and began whimpering and pointing to a life sized Dracula (remnant from Halloween no doubt) that the owners had dressed in a Santa hat. Poor, poor choice, oh owners of the tree lot. Little burst into tears and threw himself backwards in an effort to escape, landing hard on the concrete walkway. Big took off running away from the shop, while Tiny, spotting the cookies on the table about 5 feet from Santa Dracula, sprinted inside, grabbed a handful of cookies, and sprinted back out, proving that the length of time it takes him to get dressed is completely fabricated. That kid is fast when he wants to be. As The Enforcer ran after Big, I quickly scooped up the tearful Little and attempted to walk into the store again- we needed to pay for the tree. Little howled and clawed at my eyes, again drawing the stares of strangers, both shoppers and workers. I tried to communicate that the figure was scaring him, but they all just stared as he screamed, clawed and squirmed in an effort to get down and run away. Sensing the futility of the current situation, I abandoned mission and brought Little back outside where Tiny was happily munching on his snatched treats with The Enforcer, who had managed to grab Big before he ran into the parking lot. I dumped Little on him and made my way back into the store for a third and final time to pay for the tree. Finally, tree payment made, we headed back to the car while they tied it to the roof. Tiny ripped his coat from his body as though the fabric burned and bounced happily into his seat. Big and Little, recovered from the Dracula sighting, climbed wearily into theirs, while The Enforcer turned up the Christmas tunes and we headed home, ready to deck the cells... |
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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