Blossom4 has a streak of sorts going.
Lemme just say.
You heard that
it began last Thursday afternoon. I was taking a moment to freshen up my makeup, take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. The girlies, especially Blossom1, helped me prepare for several moms on their way to my house for a homeschool co-op planning session. I heard a
thud. A dull, strong, heavy thud. I raced toward the noise and the sobbing of Blossom4. Bit by bit, I got the story out. She'd jumped off the bottom bunk, fallen forward and hit her face off the vintage coffee table that we affectionately refer to as the Lego table. A tiny scrape was in evidence on her nose and the swelling began at once. I prayed for her, got the cold pack out and did some cuddling. She whimpered slightly longer than usual. I discussed an ER visit with the Rugged Mountain Man when he got home, but since her nose didn't look displaced, we went on with the evening's plan. I did my meeting and he and the girlies hung out with the neighbors. (I'd say that he and the other dad kept a close eye on her, but I feel that if
Blossom4 and
the Little Camo Guy were able to take everything out of the bathroom cabinets and proudly cover the bathroom floor with water, unnoticed, that probably wasn't the case. However, there was no sign of any water when the mama returned, so maybe I'm underestimating the dads.) By nightfall, Blossom4's nose was very swollen. She slept, propped up on pillows, but she slept normally. By the next morning, more swelling and two black eyes began to surface. As I pow-wowed with my husband on the phone, making the call on whether we ought to do a doctor's office visit or not, Blossom3 and Blossom4 raced from one end of the house to the other, laughing in high glee and squealing in delight. Over those squeals, I said, "Um, I think she's fine." and he agreed. Now I just have to explain to every stranger why she looks like Sylvester Stallone in "Rocky."
She says, "Mama, I yooked in da mirror and my eyes dust yook blackuh and blackuh!"
Moral of this story:
Lego tables are bad for your child's health.
Next up, she didn't finish her breakfast on a following morning. This is not uncommon. She's a bit of a bird when it comes to eating. A little here and a little there, but this big ole, bad ole mean mama says she can't have fishy crackers or other such three year old snack gold until the breakfast has been eaten. By her.
Not canines. Not that she's been known to do such things. Around 11am, she broke down and asked, "Mama, can I at yeast warm it up?" I was grading a science test and said, "Sure thing, Dolly," thinking I would hear when too many seconds have passed and shout out for her to pull it out of the microwave. After all, she's microwaved stuff with me numerous times. Evidently, I didn't hear it in time... I finished grading the test, only to pause at the faint smell of smoke. I raced off toward the kitchen past Blossom4 placidly and patiently reading a book on a bean bag on the dining room floor. I yanked open the microwave door and then, all the kitchen doors and windows. There was smoke billowing up and the kitchen started getting foggy immediately.
I didn't know you could char a tortilla in the microwave. We aired the house out for an hour.
The moral of the story is:
Don't homeschool your kids, your house could burn down.
By 8:30 the next morning, we were a little out of routine, so I sent the big girls out to do outside chores and I tackled breakfast cleanup myself. The littles were supposed to be doing inside chores and getting dressed.
SMASH! I raced to the school room (are you sensing a theme?) and to the scene of a shattered light bulb and overturned lamp.
"But Mama, I dust wanted to yook at da pictures we colored togedder last night."
(They were on the bulletin board next to the lamp and the desk.) I'm still not sure how standing on the desk led to knocking over the lamp, but I don't have much time to think about things like that these days. I usually make her clean up her own messes, but I figured broken glass and billowing smoke were hardly materials I should have my three year old clean up. The homeschooling mom in me was more than slightly appalled when the rest of the girlies wanted to plug in the lamp with the broken light bulb
for a science experiment, so they could see what would happen. They were beaming proudly when they brought this idea to me. Ahem, apparently they didn't remember what happened with the microwave on the previous morning.
Moral:
Don't color with your kids, your furniture will self-destruct.
Second moral:
Don't do science experiments with your kids, they'll think explosions are cool.
In between each of these instances lies a multitude of locked doors. Yes, she locked them
when she was inside, which is only slightly less (or more?) of an issue than locking them when she is
outside the bathroom. At the most inopportune times, Blossom4 will timidly walk in the room and confess in a disgustingly cute voice, with downcast, averted eyes and preciously prim clasped hands, that she has locked the bathroom door
and closed it. While I'm impressed she's bold enough to confess, I'm also thankful we've got two other bathrooms that are indeed, still unlocked. (I cringe at the idea of her possibly deciding to lock all the bathroom doors and close them all. I have not voiced this thought aloud, and I will personally threaten any Blossom that does so.) This weird locking obsession has been performed so often in the last two weeks, that not only can I add "expert lock picker" to my resume, but so can Blossom1.
Moral of the story:
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
If you stop by this weekend, you may find me randomly walking out of the bathroom, locking the door and grinning evilly. I may be jumping off my bed,
standing on my counters and laughing maniacally as I warm up my husband's food. It was just easier.
Dominique
