Well, I could use a drink….Posted: April 15, 2003
It’s a beautiful day in my neighborhood, so I figured I’d take the kids out after dinner to write on the sidewalk in chalk. My husband has class tonight, so I put the little one in the Snugli, and the three-year-old led the way. We were out there for about ten minutes, the whole time menaced by the sound of the St. Bernard across the street barking at us through the second-floor bedroom window of the row-home he occupies with his humans.
Then, quite suddenly, the little one decided that he was either over-stimulated, scared of the dog or hungry (perhaps all three), and he commenced to scream that crazy scream that throbs like a stubbed toe. So, he continued as I tried to get the three-year-old into the house. Well, the three-year old was having none of that, so he started running up and down the block, just beyond the stretch of my arm. He laughed playfully as I cradled the baby’s crimson hot head in one hand and reached out with my other.
The baby was in full-blown freak-out phase when I finally caught the three-year-old. Then he began screaming, and I dragged him by the arm into the house. Thankfully he didn’t pull that stunt toddlers pull that makes them feel as though they have no skeleton at all. I don’t know how they all figure out that this trick makes them incredibly heavy to pick up, but they’re all onto it, trust me. It’s something in nature; like ants that can lift 500 times their weight. Little kids have the capability to make themselves feel 500 times heavier than they really are. Anyway, this time he just stomped his feet behind me, making every breath a single word of protest.
Once inside, I had a hard time figuring out the baby’s problem. Wasn’t hungry, wasn’t stinky, wasn’t wet. Maybe he’s teething, who knows? The whole time I was going through this series of checks, and then retracing my steps as nothing had worked, the three-year-old was screaming, “I CAN’T DO IT! I CAN’T WANT TO STAY INSIDE!!!” And he was also sobbing intermittently at the top of his lungs. Beyond the three-year-old, who was bouncing angrily on the couch, through the open windows, I could see the neighbors across the street coming out onto their stoops, looking up and down the street, trying to figure out which parents were abusing their children.
I finally got them both to calm down, and put the little one to bed where his snores are currently being punctuated by those cute little crying hiccups that little ones get.
The three-year-old had a bath and is now watching Toy Story II. I could use either a few shots of tequila or an Advil the size of my head.
MOVIE LINE OF THE DAY: Yyyyyeah, he look-a-like Abraham Lincoln….comin’ up to bat.