8:58 AM, Tizzy is in the kitchen with me, helping me unload the dishwasher. (Actually, I'm loading, she's unloading, but the point is, we're together.)
8:59 AM, Tizzy is gone. I notice the door ajar and race outside to find she has gone down the steps, across the yard, and has climbed to the top rung of the swingset ladder. Now she's out of rungs, so both hands and both feet are perched on the top rung. She looks like a plump, uncoordinated bird against the backdrop of the open sky. She is chirping uncertainly, as if even she questions her decision-making skills. I bound down the steps three at a time and pry her off the ladder. I carry her back upstairs and inside, where I set her down next to some race cars. She turns around and goes directly back to the door.
And a variation of this happens approximately every three minutes. In fact, I am setting down the laptop right now to get her off the back of the couch. Did you know we had to get rid of her high chair? Yeah, that's right. I would strap her in, turn around to grab her food, and she would be standing on the tray, swinging her arms like, "Got outta my high chair. NBD." I feel a stab of guilt every time I set a bowl of food on the ground for Tizzy to eat, as if she were a furry little cocker spaniel. Every time I see her squatting down by her bowl of grub, I think, "Fido." Most mommy guilt is completely unjustified. No, this is real.
(Tizzy is on the kitchen counter now, FYI. With a knife. 30 seconds ago, I put her on the floor next to me with some blocks.)
Anyway, this morning, I strapped the babes in the car with a movie and invented an hour's worth of errands to run, just to give me a mental and physical break from the catch-and-release program Tizzy has consigned me to. Waiting in the car for Papa Murphy's Pizza to make our dinner, I tried to capture Tizzy's new skill, saying Mommy!, on video. I at least wanted to get a good shot of her vampire teeth, the side ones that came in before the still-missing front ones.
Tizzy wouldn't perform, of course, but I did capture the grittiest, most raw, unglamorous parts of being a mother with pre and pre-pre-schoolers, complete with a filthy carseat and yesterday's chicken nuggets. (I just had to go downstairs to get Tizzy off Ari's top bunkbed. I'm not kidding. I should pay more attention, but you would think the ice cube trays I got out would provide more than 10 seconds of entertainment. Oops, there she goes again...down the stairs.)
You know what? Just watch the video. The ending is my favorite. I have to go run some more errands!
8:59 AM, Tizzy is gone. I notice the door ajar and race outside to find she has gone down the steps, across the yard, and has climbed to the top rung of the swingset ladder. Now she's out of rungs, so both hands and both feet are perched on the top rung. She looks like a plump, uncoordinated bird against the backdrop of the open sky. She is chirping uncertainly, as if even she questions her decision-making skills. I bound down the steps three at a time and pry her off the ladder. I carry her back upstairs and inside, where I set her down next to some race cars. She turns around and goes directly back to the door.
And a variation of this happens approximately every three minutes. In fact, I am setting down the laptop right now to get her off the back of the couch. Did you know we had to get rid of her high chair? Yeah, that's right. I would strap her in, turn around to grab her food, and she would be standing on the tray, swinging her arms like, "Got outta my high chair. NBD." I feel a stab of guilt every time I set a bowl of food on the ground for Tizzy to eat, as if she were a furry little cocker spaniel. Every time I see her squatting down by her bowl of grub, I think, "Fido." Most mommy guilt is completely unjustified. No, this is real.
(Tizzy is on the kitchen counter now, FYI. With a knife. 30 seconds ago, I put her on the floor next to me with some blocks.)
Anyway, this morning, I strapped the babes in the car with a movie and invented an hour's worth of errands to run, just to give me a mental and physical break from the catch-and-release program Tizzy has consigned me to. Waiting in the car for Papa Murphy's Pizza to make our dinner, I tried to capture Tizzy's new skill, saying Mommy!, on video. I at least wanted to get a good shot of her vampire teeth, the side ones that came in before the still-missing front ones.
Tizzy wouldn't perform, of course, but I did capture the grittiest, most raw, unglamorous parts of being a mother with pre and pre-pre-schoolers, complete with a filthy carseat and yesterday's chicken nuggets. (I just had to go downstairs to get Tizzy off Ari's top bunkbed. I'm not kidding. I should pay more attention, but you would think the ice cube trays I got out would provide more than 10 seconds of entertainment. Oops, there she goes again...down the stairs.)
You know what? Just watch the video. The ending is my favorite. I have to go run some more errands!
5 comments:
Just consider her your exercise for the day. So much cheaper than the gym and you don't have to leave home.
I love her! And her little teeth! Tolly and the day old nugget is my hero. Just so you are not alone, which in turn makes my world a bit more normal.
Loved the video. So cute!
Yep the ending is my favorite too! Love those little monkeys!
Your kids are so great.
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