"That's a lame excuse for an excuse."
I put my “ignore” tactic into full effect last night. That’s the tactic mentioned in yesterday’s post where no matter how loudly my children whine in boredom, I ignore them to get some work done around the house. I only respond when someone is hurt, or when everyone has been quiet for so long I know they’re doing something they shouldn’t and someone is about to get hurt.
I was cleaning the kitchen after supper while the kids played in the living room. The boys were enjoying their approved toys like blocks and cars, while Abbie was enjoying her allowed-as-long-as-daddy-doesn’t-find-out toys like the stereo and television. Sometimes their play drifted into the kitchen, especially when the refrigerator or dishwasher was open. Those toys are strictly off-limits unless their whining is really driving daddy crazy.
Ian spent much of the time complaining about something. Sometimes the sources of his complaints were obvious like when I took away his favorite toy by closing the dishwasher door. Other times his crying was a mystery as I’d check on him and find him sitting on the ground in full tears and surrounded by toys, stuffed animals, and all the other best symbols of love money can buy. I’d hoist him to my side, distract him with another toy, return to my business in the kitchen, and repeat a couple minutes later when he starts screaming again. I hope he’s going through teething pain, because if this is a new attitude for him he needs to learn how to help me clean.
Eventually Tory started screaming the “I’m in horrible agony” scream. That one requires me to check on him no matter how close I am to scraping that last little bit of food off the plate. I entered the living room and found him standing at the back screen door. A quick check of extremities found nothing being pinched, and he calmed down as soon as I looked at him, so I returned to my kitchen. A minute later he started screaming again. When I rechecked him, he was in the same position, so I moved for a closer look. All extremities were still free, and I didn’t see any signs of physical harm like the dog had knocked him over or his foot was stuck on a pointy block. Puzzled I rose to walk away, and saw the neighbor’s young kids staring at us through the back door. They were in the backyard, and were checking out Tory through the back door. Apparently the strange kids were freaking out Tory. Honestly, seeing them staring at me through the dark freaked me out a bit too. I shut the inside door, and Tory returned to playing happily.
A few minutes later, it was Abbie’s turn to scream the insufferable scream. I saw her holding a car in her hand next to her head. Then I realized her hair was caught in the car, wrapped around the motorized wheel as it continued spinning around like an office worker’s tie caught in the paper shredder.
I sprang into action, tugging and pulling, gently trying to free her hair. Then I realized I might have more success with the car’s power turned “off.” I fiddled with it for a minute, freeing one strand at a time while comforting a hysterical little girl. Eventually I could free no more hair, so I calmly walked her to the scissors to snip her loose.
Seconds later her hair was liberated, and she bounced into the living room to probably return to fiddling with the stereo, which has yet to trap her hair. I set the car on the kitchen counter out of her reach. I needed to keep cleaning, and I couldn’t risk it catching anyone else’s hair.
I was cleaning the kitchen after supper while the kids played in the living room. The boys were enjoying their approved toys like blocks and cars, while Abbie was enjoying her allowed-as-long-as-daddy-doesn’t-find-out toys like the stereo and television. Sometimes their play drifted into the kitchen, especially when the refrigerator or dishwasher was open. Those toys are strictly off-limits unless their whining is really driving daddy crazy.
Ian spent much of the time complaining about something. Sometimes the sources of his complaints were obvious like when I took away his favorite toy by closing the dishwasher door. Other times his crying was a mystery as I’d check on him and find him sitting on the ground in full tears and surrounded by toys, stuffed animals, and all the other best symbols of love money can buy. I’d hoist him to my side, distract him with another toy, return to my business in the kitchen, and repeat a couple minutes later when he starts screaming again. I hope he’s going through teething pain, because if this is a new attitude for him he needs to learn how to help me clean.
Eventually Tory started screaming the “I’m in horrible agony” scream. That one requires me to check on him no matter how close I am to scraping that last little bit of food off the plate. I entered the living room and found him standing at the back screen door. A quick check of extremities found nothing being pinched, and he calmed down as soon as I looked at him, so I returned to my kitchen. A minute later he started screaming again. When I rechecked him, he was in the same position, so I moved for a closer look. All extremities were still free, and I didn’t see any signs of physical harm like the dog had knocked him over or his foot was stuck on a pointy block. Puzzled I rose to walk away, and saw the neighbor’s young kids staring at us through the back door. They were in the backyard, and were checking out Tory through the back door. Apparently the strange kids were freaking out Tory. Honestly, seeing them staring at me through the dark freaked me out a bit too. I shut the inside door, and Tory returned to playing happily.
A few minutes later, it was Abbie’s turn to scream the insufferable scream. I saw her holding a car in her hand next to her head. Then I realized her hair was caught in the car, wrapped around the motorized wheel as it continued spinning around like an office worker’s tie caught in the paper shredder.
I sprang into action, tugging and pulling, gently trying to free her hair. Then I realized I might have more success with the car’s power turned “off.” I fiddled with it for a minute, freeing one strand at a time while comforting a hysterical little girl. Eventually I could free no more hair, so I calmly walked her to the scissors to snip her loose.
Seconds later her hair was liberated, and she bounced into the living room to probably return to fiddling with the stereo, which has yet to trap her hair. I set the car on the kitchen counter out of her reach. I needed to keep cleaning, and I couldn’t risk it catching anyone else’s hair.
posted by Matt at
11:37 PM
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