We live in the land of baby gates. Small wooden gates, large wooden gates, tall metal gates with latches, you name the gating system, we are either using it, or have used it and threw it away in disgust.
Because we house an inmate. My last and final child is a climber slash escape artist who can and will dismantle an entire dishwasher, if allowed in the kitchen.
And then there’s the shiny, sharp carving knives.
I shudder at that near miss horror trip to the emergency room slash police station.
Now that the little booger has entered his terrible 3’s, he is learning how to get around the baby gates. He doesn’t just open them. Oh no. That would be child’s play. He takes the entire thing apart. And leaves it in a heap on the floor. As he laughs maniacally, carrying his Blues Clues blanket into the forbidden zone.
And now, oh this is fun, he has figured out how to unlock the doors. The front door, the sliders, you know, the ONLY BARRIER KEEPING HIM FROM SPEEDING CARS WHICH FLY DOWN OUR STREET.
Yesterday, I looked down the hall to catch a glimpse of the back end of Junior and Blues Clues Blanket exiting the front door. Odd, I thought. Well, maybe he’s going outside with Fiddledaddy.
Except that just then I heard Fiddledaddy at the other end of the house. I ran out and caught hold of the boy child as he was heading down the sidewalk.
And the adults in the house may or may not have peed their pants just a little.
Today, Fiddledaddy and Junior took a little trip to Lowes. For some hardware. Brackets have been installed, additional locks that I even have to stand on my tippy toes to reach, and there was even a little something for the slider door. A guard dog may have even been mentioned. Except for the fur allergy. And the fact that if I had one more mouth to feed I’d throw myself off of our one story house.
Yes. We have a security system with a high pitched beeping noise that will sound if anyone enters or exits. And it goes very nicely with all the other noises in my head.
And folks, it’s not like I can toss him out in the backyard to play. It isn’t that he can scale the 6 foot fence. Yet. BUT HE’S ALLERGIC TO GRASS, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD.
I console myself by curling up into the fetal position, and repeating, “It’s only a season. It’s only a season.” And I hope and pray that one day this will all just be a distant memory…
And I can look back on my archives and chuckle. FROM THE NUTHOUSE.
I have a favorite faded t-shirt that features a dead stiff cow, laying on its back, hooves to the sky, that says, “Really, I’m fine.”
And never has anything embodied what I’m feeling as well as that thread bare shirt.
I turn it over to y’all. If you were to design a t-shirt, that mirrors what you are going through right now, what would it say?
Have a wonderful weekend! And thank you homeschoolers for your used curriculum sites suggestions! Keep ’em coming.