Like the Energizer bunny

by statia on June 20, 2011

Little Girl is the type of toddler, where when someone asks you how it’s going, you bluntly answer either one of two ways:  Do you want her?  Or, if she were the first child, there never would have been a second.  There is not a SINGLE SOLITARY DAY that goes by, that my mother isn’t laughing hysterically in my face.   I thought that the Mini’s sensitive nature, where every.single.little.thing. is cause for an epic meltdown, was exhausting.  For all of the challenges we faced, he was by far my easy kid.

My walls are covered in crayon marks (or “crown” marks, as is the regional accent here.  They are CRAYONS people, you color with them, not wear them on your head).  But that’s the least of it.   One day, after the no nap showdown ensued.   I walked into her room to find it head to toe in diaper rash cream.    Today, I walked into my room to find various tubes of lotions and gels, squeezed on the floor, colored on my newly painted walls (HULK SMAAAAAAAAAASH), along with pencil marks also on said walls.

There was an ad in a magazine I saw once when I was a kid, that always put me in a fit of giggles.   It was of a kid squirting mustard all over the floor, and I always wanted to do that, but my mother threatened my life if I did, as we had carpet in the kitchen, as was trendy in the 80′s.    I think of that ad now and I shudder.

I also saw that she had colored her nails in black sharpie, and I’m afraid to look around the house, because I have yet to find the sharpie.

I didn’t sign up for this.


donna June 20, 2011 at 10:58 pm

Dude. I don’t even know what to say. Except that hellbeast doesn’t last forever. And always keep extra paint in the garage.

Tracy June 20, 2011 at 11:29 pm

Had to share this one with my husband, because he shares your pain.

My stepdaughter, long ago before I was part of their lives ( I think she was 3), “smurfed” her brother – which meant she climbed a hall closet, got a can of blue spray paint off the top shelf, and sprayed her brother with it.

On an earlier occasion, she found her mom’s make-up, and coated her brother in slut-red lipstick. It was so deep in his ears, they couldn’t get it all out.

On yet another occasion, she dumped a CAN of white paint over her brother. (Notice on all of these occasions, her brother, who is 2 years younger, was her victim!)

My stepsons, on numerous occasions, threw entire boxes of cereal around the living room. My husband came home on more than one occasion to find it 1″ deep in the living room, and that his now ex-wife had locked herself in the bathroom, sobbing. (I think this is a large factor in why she is the ‘ex’, and we have the kids full time!)

river June 20, 2011 at 11:47 pm

Lock her in? Lock her out? I have no solution for you.

I’m told that when I was four it was my idea for my brother and I (he was two), to climb over the back fence into the neighbours yard where there were cans of paint on his back porch. Apparently I’d decided we would help the neighbour paint his house and the rainwater tank. All I remember is R and me being covered in white paint and being bathed with turpentine. My own children didn’t inherit this mischief gene.

Veronica June 21, 2011 at 1:15 am

Huh, she sounds like Amy. Which is FUN, you know. Definitely.

statia June 21, 2011 at 8:32 am

Tracy, I would be sobbing in the bathroom too, and I’m medicated.

Ms. Pants June 21, 2011 at 8:59 am

Oh, you SO signed up for this! The moment you decided you wanted kids, you inked your agreement in that black sharpie that your daughter has now taken hostage.

She is your Curse Child.

And that’s why, I have cats.

(also–more writing! please! miss your stories! Denis Leary should do dramatic readings.)

Tommie June 21, 2011 at 12:36 pm

My second child is my ‘challenging’ one too. She’s the one who cried due to reflux for the first six months of her life. If she’d been born first, there would have been no second child.

She’s the one who STILL, at four years old, likes to unroll the toilet paper into a pile on the floor because it’s ‘pretty.’ She also likes to find her eight year old sister’s lip gloss and gloss the walls, the carpet, the television, the bottoms of her own feet, her sister’s Zhu Zhu pets, etc. It goes over really well, as i’m sure you can imagine.

I have described her as evil to many people, most of whom gasp in shock that I’d call my lovely, tiny little daughter in such terms. Yeah, I say live with her and see how long you can go without saying she’s evil.

Fawn June 21, 2011 at 1:29 pm

When I worked nights and my son was 3 I would generally stay awake until my teen daughter got home from school and then try to catch a few hours of sleep before going back to work. If I was just too exhausted to wait I’d set my alarm for an hour and try to get my son down for a short nap with me. Usually it went fine but one day he apparently didn’t go to sleep and I did. He knew not to get off of the bed so he asked first…if it would be ok if he went to the kitchen and made some fries! I’m a sleep talker and if we believe his story, I said SURE! Next thing I knew my daughter was standing over the bed laughing at me and telling me not to come into the kitchen until she cleaned it up. My son’s “fries” consisted of every single thing he could get the lid off of. ranch,ketchup,mustard, mayo,salsa,jelly,pickles, oh and handfuls of mayo were used as adhesive to stick sandwich cheese slices to the cabinet doors and the fridge. He had blonde curls down to his butt..his hair was stained yellow from the mustard for weeks.

This is pretty par for the course with my son haha I feel your pain. He has also turned my whole room into a giant “spider web” using an ENTIRE skein of yarn and has taken a full glass of water to his room one mouthful at a time and tried to fill up his toybox with it.

Siera June 21, 2011 at 9:31 pm

And this is why I am sure I will only have the one. He’s mild mannered for the most part, throw in some intense tantrums and an anger streak and I am good. I am scared about what else I may spawn and would rather not know. I do find some crayon on the wall, but not often.

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