Monday, March 14, 2011

How disaster became a verb

Lately, I feel like Lucy in the chocolate factory, trying to keep up with a conveyor belt that ramps up by the minute. This would all be fine if there were chocolates involved, of course. What's actually involved here is a quick-thinking, quick-acting toddler who wants to do everything herself.

There's precious little time between her thoughts and her actions. She's very quick. It's like watching someone run a thousand experiments a day to test the properties and functions and reactions of every little thing she comes across.

She threw a cup of water from the tub onto Nana three times in quick succession. Hm. Nana gets wet, cleans it up, tells me No No. Funny!

She reached under my arm and pulled a knife out the dishwasher one morning in a millisecond. Maybe I can use this to cut my own sausage. Yeah, that's it.

She poured apple juice on her plate, licked it up and then put the plate on her head all within 10 seconds. Why can't I drink juice from a plate? And will this plate make a good hat? Nope.

She poured a bowl of Cheerios and milk onto the table and then slurped it up (despite having a perfectly good spoon and bowl at her disposal). The Cheerios seem to be floating away from me here ... maybe this was a bad idea. Nah.

She grabbed a handful of clothes from the hamper in the bathroom and stuffed them in the toilet RIGHT BEHIND MY BACK. I think these clothes need to be washed. I'll just help mom out a bit.

She ran into the TV room, flipped over the mini trampoline and tried to jump on it. It's just not as fun to jump on when it's flipped over. Next ...

She rides down the driveway backward and tries to ride down in a tiny wagon meant for Mega Blocks. Oooohhh. Backward is fun! Hey, why don't I fit in this little wagon?
She grabs toys from her brothers and hurls them over baby gates before they even know what hit them. WOW. They get red in the face and scream when I do that. I've got the power now ... 

(She's kind of a bully; but I guess she'd need to be to survive between two brothers, one of whom is going to be a very big boy.)

The three most terrifying sounds in my house are chairs and stools being dragged across the floor, a toddler happily chirping "I did it," and the sound of utter silence when the kids are awake.

The crime scenes that I've wandered into lately have been astounding. When I casually ask what happened, Danny tells me, "Fi disastered it."

Yes. Yes, she did.

And, lately, leaving the house with the three of them is like taking a herd of billy goats out in public. They just seem to sow disaster wherever they go. Yes, even the baby, but mostly Fiona.

Fiona spilled a pint of blueberries in the produce section recently. Wal-Mart has been disastered.

Danny and Fiona broke a ceramic planter in the garden section. Lowe's has been disastered.

Owen grabs books from the library shelves from his stroller. Fiona helps. The library has been disastered. (I think the librarians all shudder when they see us coming.)

She seems to be the common denominator here, doesn't she?

Fiona's bedroom? Disastered on a daily basis.

The kitchen floor? Disastered hourly.

So here's a list of the Top 5 Fiona-made disasters of late (in order of spectacularness):

5. "I want raisins," she told me after penetrating the baby proofed cabinet and hauling out the raisins and a box of Brazil nuts. She took what she wanted and left the rest ... all over the kitchen floor. Wasted about a pound of raisins, she did. The next day, I was forced to make Irish Soda Bread with cranberries instead of raisins. (Good, but just not the same.)
4. The day the closet threw up. She was just tall enough to tug on the clothes hanging in her closet. She was also just strong enough to yank the closet shelving out of the wall. Next step? Yank out all the gift wrapping supplies and have a party.
3. Flour. All over the cabinet shelves. Every mom's nightmare. Where were Jim and I? I was upstairs giving Owen a bath; Jim was RIGHT THERE. She's that quick, people. I asked her why she did it. She looked up at me, with floury upturned palms, and said, "Pizza." She and Danny "help" Daddy make pizza dough on Saturdays. Good thing she's cute.
2. The great pasta massacre of 2011. It was so spectacular that it warranted a video and a host of photos. Where was mommy? Putting the baby down for a nap. What was Danny doing? Joining in the Fiona-led fun.
1. Poop. For a few days in January, Fiona was the queen of poop smearing. Read more here. (I may never recover from that particular few days.)

No comments: