I was watching The Mom Show once (this was a while ago because frankly the women on the show, particularly Catherine irritate me to no end). It was a question and answer with the all knowing Nanny Robina. Sure.
This Mother gets up and asks what she can do with her 4 year old when she has housework to do. The answer from the brilliant Nanny Robina? Have her little one pitch in and help! Well, of course! Sounds easy...and don't we all have children so that they can someday become our own personal slaves?
Which brings about my topic at hand today. I had some vacuuming to do. Something that must be done more often than I would like because we have an ever shedding Golden Retriever. Love her....not her fur.
I get out the vacuum cleaner and immediately Finley reaches for the smaller tube attachment on the back of the vacuum...which Adrian promptly plucks from his chubby little hands. As Fin's mouth starts to open in protest I grab the other hose attachment and give it to him at which point the boys start to play battle swords. Boys. Anything and everything becomes a weapon starting at a very young age.
I unwind the vacuum cord, plug it in and start to vacuum the area rug on the main floor. Not such an easy feat when you're trying to avoid little toes and dog paws running in circles around you. After I was done, I brought the vacuum up to the front hall to start on the front door mat as well as to attempt to suck up all the sand and salt that comes along with boots and winter.
Adrian has "helped" me do this before and so when he asked to help I said sure. After I vacuumed the front door mat I attached the tube to the hose and off he went. I supervised for a minute and then had to chase after Finley who had snuck into the closet and was now dragging my mammoth filthy winter boots through the house, slamming and banging them on the floor as bits of sand and salt flew everywhere. Sometimes I really wonder why I bother to clean at all.
I grab my boots and return back to the front hall to find Adrian standing in front of the mirrored closets (in his Buzz underwear and bright red socks just to give you the complete picture) holding the vacuum tube to his head...the suction pulling at his beautiful head of curls. Is this normal behaviour for a 3 year old? Or better question....are any 3 year olds "normal?". That's a whole other blog entry.
I turn off the vacuum and warned him he was going to go bald if he kept doing that and turned him back to the task of sucking up the bits of sand. I watch to make sure he doesn't attempt the strange activity of suctioning out his hair by the roots and then check on Finley who's playing calmly and quietly on the carpet with some toys.
I return back to the front hall...to find Adrian standing in front of the mirror holding the suction tube to the other side of his head.
Alright. That's the end of Adrian the Helper.
I turn off the vacuum. He yells "NO!" and turns it back on. I walk to the outlet, unplug it and quickly walk back to the front hall at which point Adrian runs passes me and attempts to PLUG IT BACK IN.
OH NO you don't mister! I take the plug from him and he runs back to the hose, rips out the attachment and whips it across the hall. It crashes against the bathroom door.
I'm sure the all knowing Nanny Robina never had this scenario in mind when she doled out her wise little piece of advice.
I pry his fingers off one by one which are still gripping the hose fiercely, pick up his not so small body and try to lift the gate latch to take him upstairs for a time out. By this point Finley is standing at the bottom of the stairs crying and trying to climb the stairs on his own. Adrian grabs the neck of my shirt only to grab my skin too which basically results in my chest looking like it's been attacked by a very vicious animal. And let me tell you....it hurts like a b!%@#. But I stayed as calm as I could as I had to make sure Finley was climbing up the stairs ahead of me and not going to tumble down while trying to keep Adrian's flailing limbs to his body. When did my 3 year old become as strong as me?
Adrian goes to his room protesting like a crazy person and I head into Fin's room to play, read and generally enjoy his sweet babyness....as my other son shrieks like a banshee and attempts to break out of his room with a force so strong I'm convinced that the door is going to have holes in it.
It doesn't. But it looks like the contents of a children's clothing store has thrown up every piece of clothing in it.
Perfect. Another battle I simply do not have the energy to handle. But I will...after I show him what he's done to Mommy's chest.
He's a little embarrassed and I could tell he felt bad. I receive the usual "I'm sorry Mummy" with a hug as my chest screams in stinging agony. I know it wasn't completely intentional so it's difficult to stay mad. Besides, I also know Daddy is going to come home tonight and a little chat will be had again.
I lay beside him a half hour later for nap time. He's playing with the front of my hair while I "tickle" his back as always requested at every nap time and night time. Then he leans over, kisses my nose, puts his little arm around my neck and looks at me with his blue eyes and says "You're my best buddy Mummy. I'm sorry I hurt your chest." He puts his head back on his pillow, his eyes still on mine "I love you Mumma."
I simply smiled and told him I loved him too.
You have to take the good with the bad.
And thank God the good feels so sweet.