Farm to City
That you couldn’t yell?
I had one of those moments yesterday. I was literally so angry that I just said, very quietly, that I was so angry, I couldn’t talk to you (meaning the girls) right now and I left the room. Yeah, rendering me speechless. It was that bad. Here is the sequence of events leading to said semi-meltdown.
On Monday, I hear water running. Amy has been using a lot of water lately to wash her hands (it’s that 3 year old phase), so I yell down the hall, “Amy, no more water.” She yells, “Okay, I’m washing my hands.”
Two seconds later, more water. I say, “Ames, I said no more water.” Katie yells back, “I had to go potty.”
Again, a few moments later, more water. “Katie, I said no more water.” Nothing.
“Katie?” Just more water.
“KATE!” I yell again. Water shuts off. I hear running.
Charlie was with me. So, I scooped him up and ran down the hallway.
Inside the girls’ room is approximately every stuffed animal, doll and pillow that the girls own. They are drenched in water and smeared with diaper cream.
Diaper cream? But that was in….
I run to Charlie’s room (other side of bathroom). Diaper cream everywhere. On the floor, on the new rug… Yes, this was the one room in the house that had looked nice. It was recently repainted and I bought new curtains, two new rugs, the whole bit. Now, a diaper cream mural.
I lose it. Lots of screaming and tossing of animals and dolls in a garbage bag (Chris later rescued most of them). Girls in time out.
You’d think that they would learn. I was so mad.
But now, cut to Tuesday. After replacing the toilet seat on Sunday due to magic marker on the seat, I start off the morning by wiping crayon off of the new toilet seat.
Charlie was a bit out of sorts, so I take him to the family room and sit with him for awhile. He’s really tired (I’m guessing he didn’t sleep well from the heat). He falls asleep on me.
In the meantime, the girls are quiet. They are in their room. There is no sound of water. They don’t have any crayons. All should be right with the world.
I put Charlie down (still asleep) and pop down the hallway to see what’s going on. Pandemonium. Every single article of clothing has been removed from their dresser. Everything - including hangers - has come out of the closet. All of the books and toys are off of the bookcase. They are all on the floor.
“Katie,” I say, very quietly, trying not to lose it, “you start cleaning this up.”
“I don’t know how,” she says. “You do it.”
You do it.
You see, this is a disturbing trend. My children, increasingly, view me as their maid, cook, chauffeur, etc. I’m not sure when this started. There’s no asking please, no saying thank you (to others, yes, not to me). There’s just this idea that when they’re hungry, it’s my “job” to feed them. When they’re thirsty, it’s my duty to fetch water. I cook, I clean. I do the laundry.
They are 3 and 5. How did this happen?
July 11th, 2007 at 8:14 am
Oh, I hear you! When my daughter and niece (2 months apart) get together, we often have horrific tales of destruction. When they’re quiet, it’s time to worry. This is something I worry about having a baby girl on her way - will this become the norm in my already disordered house?
I don’t know what to tell you about that feeling of being a servant to everyone, except that I feel you and I hope it gets better. I had a complete meltdown with Mr. Mac last night over that very same thing, because I feel like I am servant to everyone in this house, including him. The meltdown was precipitated by him leaving my nice Le Creusset grill pan that he used last Monday (yes, a week ago) dirty on the kitchen counter so that it gathered interesting science experiments. I let him have it, and I ended up getting taken out to dinner, but I don’t know if it solves anything going forward. It’s an awful feeling.
Even Miss M, who is as well-behaved and considerate as they come at age 9, takes on this “I WANT….” mentality with me. It’s frustrating.
Hang in there. I was this way when I was a kid, and one day, my mom came in and cleaned up the toys. Except they didn’t go back into the toy closet. They went into a box and into the storage closet, only to be seen again when I’d started taking care of my things. I was 5 or so when this happened.
July 11th, 2007 at 12:57 pm
I wished I’d had this corny, but seemingly effective, program when Julia was a little one…
http://www.housefairy.org/
July 12th, 2007 at 5:59 am
“You do it!” Oh, yes, I believe you just cited my son’s favorite new phrase. Grrr. This is why I only have one right now. Together they just set you up for a blitz attack. Water and diaper cream? I hurt just thinking about that cleanup. (((HUGS)))
July 12th, 2007 at 7:59 am
Yeah, there’s a reason that diaper cream is doctor recommended to protect against moisture - it doesn’t wash off!!!
July 12th, 2007 at 3:19 pm
a few comments:
1. better to leave the room and tell them you can’t talk at the moment then scream, hit, curse, or any other form of losing it.
2. better cream and water than scooping a shall-remain-unmentioned substance out of the toilet and using paintbrushes to blend it and … remember that day?
3. cages and/or a ball pit with a lock.
July 12th, 2007 at 5:24 pm
Hmm. Feeling much better about the diaper cream now…
July 12th, 2007 at 6:38 pm
The Womb is the answer …
The Womb is an invention my wife won’t let me actually implement, but think of a nicely padded and decorated dog crate with happy children playing inside, fully incapable of damaging the house or themselves. We even came up with product extensions - a larger model or a model with connecting tubes, like a Habitrail (Womb for Two) and a deluxe model with plexiglas windows (Womb with a View).
No diaper cream problems then.
July 12th, 2007 at 7:02 pm
You see what I have to deal with?
July 12th, 2007 at 9:01 pm
Recycled Idea: Jean Kerr wrote of having one of her four sons confined in a cage to reduce pandemonium in her semi-autobiographical, absolutely hysterical novel, Please Don’t Eat the Daisies. This was made into a film starring Doris Day and David Niven. The father of the family was Walter Kerr, drama critic of the New York Times.
July 12th, 2007 at 9:15 pm
It’s only recycled if I’d ever heard of Jean Kerr. That and we had the marketing program all figured out, unlike Ms. Kerr, only I’ve forgotten some of the other product extensions.
July 12th, 2007 at 11:50 pm
Oh my, yes. I’ve been there. In fact, there are only a few people who can make me that angry. One is my roommate. The other is my mother. When I hit the stage beyond yelling, I start to shake. At that point, fyi, you should run.
July 12th, 2007 at 11:52 pm
Oh, and I LOVE lawdaddy’s idea. I have something like that in my classroom. It’s called a Chill Out room. It’s nothing but walls and pillows. I think every home should have one too.
July 13th, 2007 at 2:28 am
We have the naughty chair at home - problem is when all of them are in timeout there is just the one chair (it is close to the front door and the kids refuse to sit on it - unless in punishment!). My kids definitely view me as their personal maid and servant. Mine say ‘You HAVE to do it because mummys are supposed to help children!” I’ve been so angry that I have had to ask my kids to stay away from me until further notice! (and have been reduced to silence many a time too!) — It is a relief to know I’m not alone!!!