My darling offspring, each in their own unique way, have found things with which to drive me insane. Keifer, the six year-old, with a streak of genius for stating the obvious, and a habit of repeating the same things over and over and over until you snap, has decided he lives to watch Lawrence Welk on PBS. His favorite part? The accordian! Now, I would forgive him if he say, appreciated TMBG or even Weird Al, but nope. He wants the accordian parts of the Lawrence Welk show…grrrrrrrrrrr. (He’s also into “TeleTubbies” right now. I deprived him, until now, of that show, and can’t explain that since I don’t take acid, I don’t like the show.)
Katie…ah Katie…she’s decided she doesn’t like my favorite radio station and kicks the back of my seat while I am driving the car if it’s on. She prefers opera. Or the Scorpions. I am also firmly convinced she is the re-incarnation of Keith Moon, as she can trash a room in the time it takes an adult to pour milk into a cup for her. She’s broken all the dresser drawers in her room, climbing them to sit on top the dresser. She also has a penchant for drawing. I don’t mind that so much. However, I was NOT amused when she found a permanent marker and decided my arm and sleeve of my work shirt was a suitable canvas…
[sub]Thankfully, they are both sleeping now. Aren’t they angelic when they sleep?[/sub]
Help me out here…Anyone else have kids doing stuff you’d never imagine?
My son Liam loves Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars. And he has hundreds of them. Every birthday, the grandparent, is a fit of unoriginality, decided to buy him one of those monster pack of cars. Usually he’s content to just roll them across the floor or take them all and line them up in nice straight rows. (We usually go to bed with a six foot line of cars in the kitchen.) Lately though, he’s discovered the aerodynamic possibilities and has decided that they make better airplanes than automobiles. It’s really rather humorous watching us try to pick up hundreds of matchbox cars and put them away while he’s scrambling about trying to fling them as fast as he can.
“Why eat something that’s already opened, when you can open a brand new, never-been-touched-by-human-hands jar/bag/box/tube/roll/etc.” is Skirmie’s latest and greatest.
Use the toilet paper on the roll? Naw. Open a new package and take a handful from each new roll!
Drink the half full juice box? Naw. Jam a straw in a new one!
Fill the breakfast bowl with Cap’n Crunch opened yesterday? Naw. Open the Cheerios!
This is bordering on the ridiculous. I mae myself a Turkey sandwich recently and discovered that the mayo jar was empty. I went to the cupboard, took out a new jar opened it and… there was a spoon in it!
“Skirm, why is there a spoon in this brand new jar of mayo?”
“I was hungry.”
“So you opened a new jar to make a sandwich, left the spoon in it an put it back in the cupboard?”
“No.”
“Whadda ya mean? I didn’t do it! You did!”
“I mean I didn’t make a sandwich. I just ate the mayonnaise.”
As what I assume is typical parent behavior, we have a wide assortment of colorful plastic kid-sized (insert utensil here) for Baby Babe I (4 yrs. old on Feb. 26). She has taken to deciding which color bowl she wants, which is fine, and we’ll usually get the specific one for her. The problem is that she decides that she absolutely must have the RED bowl right after I just poured her cereal and milk into the BLUE bowl. When we tell her that no, we won’t dirty two bowls just so she can have the blue one, she invariably replies “But we have a dishwasher.”
And Baby Babe II (1 year old) has decided that she wants to spend every waking hour when she’s not pooping/peeing/puking doing the razzberry. That’s not so annoying as cute, but I had to say it.
I have six year old twin sons; it’s astonishing what two little ones can achieve that one alone could not. Fecal painting covers so much more when there are two diapers full for raw material (which is why their room had to be re-painted and the carpet torn up). Boxes of cereal spilled in the TV rooms, half eaten fruit stuffed into or under furniture, muddy boot-prints down the hallway…
Come to think of it, I guess they’re not so unusual.
I’m blessedly child-free, but I took care of my nephew when he was an infant and toddler. I remember one really weird phase he went through around age 3 - the need to tactilely experience things with his feet.
My dad once walked into the kitchen to find the dear lad walking back and forth over a loaf a bread. When asked what he was doing, he replied, “I wanted to know what walking on bread felt like.”
The best, though, was that Christmas. Pop opened the refrigerator as we were getting ready to put dinner on the table for the extended clan, and found the serving dish of thoroughly mangled cranberry sauce. He looked at the floor and saw these little red, crusty footprints leading away from the 'fridge to the kitchen table where my nephew was sitting quietly. When Pop held up the platter and looked at my nephew, the kid chimed up with an absolutely straight face and before Pop could say a word, “Reindeer did it.”
Suffice it to say, the old man could not keep a straight face upon hearing that.
