Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Duct Tape Parenting Method.
Hell does not involve fiery flames of doom, licking the souls of the damned. No fire. No scorching heat or downtrodden sinners. There is no Satan with his pitchfork(although if there was, he could throw a couple of hot dogs on that fork and get some dinner started). But no. Dante was wrong, wrong, WRONG.
Hell is yet another rainy day and three high energy children stuck inside the house. Again. And I am here to entertain them. That is my purpose in this life, apparently. They wait for me to don the jester’s hat, the striped one with the little bells, and dance a jig for them. Or maybe they’re waiting for me to clone, right there in the kitchen, so one of me can make dinner (since the sweaty guy with the pitchfork isn’t getting around to it), one can feed the baby and one can play “tag” and chase the other two around the room. Actually, now that I think about it, that would be a good trick. Meanwhile, the real me could slip away with a good book and a glass of wine, or maybe take a nap. Ahh. My once torrid fantasies about steamy sex in the rain with strong, muscular men have been reduced to this. Fantasies that involve bed, yes, but no illicit sex or cabana boys. Just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Hmmm...could you imagine? A nap? Sleeping in the daytime? Oh. Yeah. I’m really being naughty now.
Anyway...Ironically, all three of the kids are actually asleep right now. Granted, it is after 10:00pm, but I could be sleeping. But I’m not. I have a few minutes of peace and quiet and I’m going to take advantage of it. Even if I can’t stop yawning. Oh, just typing that made me yawn again. Weird. And actually, two of the three kids are asleep in my bed so there really isn’t all that much room for me, since they tend to sleep sideways and upside down. Yawn. Again. Argh. I used to be such a night owl. 10:00 pm used to be early. The night was just beginning. But this whole parenthood thing had made a mess of my schedule. After nearly six years of it, you’d think I’d have something figured out by now. I know people out there who claim to have real children, yet, have all this free time and they have time for “date” night and dinner in real restaurants. Their “kids” are obediently in their own beds (where they stay, all night) by 8:00pm and they take naps when they’re told and when they’re in trouble (which is rare, after all) they respectfully do their time-out, without a peep or a protest. They eat their organic vegetables and they never, ever watch tv.
I messed up somewhere along the way. I can’t even get the bedtime thing right. And time-out? Really? Oh, how I try. I try and try. And it undoubtedly becomes a one on one wrestling match. I walk my eldest to the time-out chair and sit him down. He stands up. I sit him down. He stands up. Rinse and repeat. And repeat and repeat. Do I use duct tape? Is that allowed? I take my daughter to time-out. She jumps off and giggles. Then jumps back on. Jumps off. Jumps on. Giggle, giggle. Isn’t time-out fun? Giggle. Jump. Maybe the third try is the charm. My one year old will be the organic veggie-eating-whale-saving-homeless-feeding-saint. That’s what I’m
banking on, anyway.
I think maybe I need a visit from the Super Nanny or Nanny 911 or whatever those Help!-I’m-a-bad-parent tv shows are. I’ve never actually seen any of them, but my mom insists they’d be helpful to watch. I’m not sure what she means by that...