My living room looks like a typhoon got it on with an earthquake and popped out a baby tornado. A certain someone figured out a loophole in his new sippy cup that allows him to let the water flow unregulated, onto the floor. He followed that up with an overturning of his play tent, spinning in circles while holding an open bag of wooden blocks, and then dumping a box of puzzle pieces and dragging them to the four corners of the room. I actually think I saw his rocking horse shed a tear. Did I mention he woke up two hours earlier than normal today? There isn’t enough vodka coffee in the world to last me until bedtime tonight. All of this can be chalked up to the fact that Mommy is on a day shift, because otherwise, this $#!% wouldn’t be happening.
It’s a strange Murphy’s Law like phenomenon where anything that can go wrong will, unless Mommy’s here. On the days when she closes the restaurant or has the day off, the Mayor wakes up at a reasonable hour, plays nice, cleans up, eats every morsel of food without a fuss, and takes 3+ hour naps. We even had to cancel a trip to the Boston Children’s Museum yesterday because his nap lasted until an hour before it closed.
But when Mommy opens, my morning goes something like this. I’m in the bushes taking heavy fire, Daniel Tiger and Curious George my only allies. My enemy is unrelenting. Where does he get this boundless energy from? Certainly not from his dinner last night, because most of that is now a lovely sweet potato and chicken mosaic on the dining room walls and ceiling. Seriously, the ceiling. Sweet potatoes do not abide by the laws of physics.
To add to my pain, the boy finally learned how to say “no.” Oh, joy. Although I take pride in his going almost twenty months without it, he’s now making up for lost time. I’m trying desperately to make it “no, thank you” but it’s an arduous battle. Honestly, he would turn down a monster truck full of chocolate chip puppies just to tell me “NO” at this rate. The terrible twos have arrived, about four and a half months ahead of schedule. I’m at the point where The Wiggles get me ready for war, and Mastodon is my calm time listening.
It always amazes me how quickly he can turn the charm on and off. He went from a full scale tantrum in the car to flirting with the Dunkin’ Donuts girls, right back to screaming in my ear, all in the span of about three and a half minutes. That spectacle earned him an early nap time, sans-banana, the ultimate punishment around here. I contemplated putting his stuffed Sulley‘s head on a spike to serve as a warning. I’ve been re-watching season one of Game of Thrones, it seems like an effective tool.
At present time, we’re about seven hours from Mommy getting home from work, seven and half hours from bedtime. So I can reasonably expect a minimum of forty-five minutes of good behavior. He’s smart enough to turn on the smiles and giggles beforehand, just in case she’s early. Usually, when his morning is so bad, his afternoon/early evening are good, provided he gets a decent nap. If it gets cut short today, I’m screwed. The two weeks of New England fall are over and winter is basically here, drastically reducing our park time. There’s only so much time I can kill by reading “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom“. I’ll set up a barricade in the living room, man. I don’t even care. I’ve got enough stuffed animals down here to do it. For now I wait, sharpening my pretzel rod arsenal and clearing out a good hiding space behind the couch.
Yogurt Is The New Black 
