When Zoey was twoish, we thought we had our hands full. She was a tomboy and did some crazy stuff. When I would hear the neighborhood moms talk about the wild things their boys had done, I would chime in with a "I know exactly what you're talking about. Zoey is just like having a boy." They would then laugh at me and call me names until I cried.
No wait. It was the middle school bullies that laughed at me and called me names until I cried. Those prepubescent girls can be real bitches.
The moms would just roll their eyes and say, "No. A girl is nowhere near as bad as a boy." I would often reply, "But you don't know how much of a tomboy Zoey is!"
Zed has since shown me the error of my ways. In the past two weeks, he has proven that one two-year-old boy can do more damage than twenty two-year-old girls. He cannot be left alone. Don't believe me? The following four incidents happened today:
The Dishwasher
Zed loves playing with his little cars and puzzles. But by a wide margin, his favorite toy is our dishwasher. When it is running, he likes to move the lever back and forth, turning the dishwasher off and on in the process. I'll tell him, "No" and he'll run off to another room and just wait until I leave the kitchen so he can sneak back in and start doing it again.
Apparently, turning it off and on has become a bit passé. After I finished straightening up the living room for the 432nd time this morning, I went into the kitchen and found the door to the dishwasher open. Zed was sitting beside it, splashing the water inside.
The Dishwasher Part II
I was on the phone with Ella when I heard loud noises coming from the kitchen. I ran into the kitchen and found the dishwasher door open yet again. Only this time, Zed was standing on the door. He was removing his sippy cups from inside the dishwasher and chucking them across the kitchen.
Luckily, I got to him before he had a chance to move on to the glassware or knives.
Another Mess
I was reading Zoey a book when we heard the a loud crash come from the dining room, followed by fourteen million little ping-ping-pings. Zed had found one of Zoey's bead sets (THAT ARE ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE IN HER BEDROOM! (but that's another story)), opened it, and poured it out onto the floor. I sent both kids to another room to play while I tried to find all the beads.
Slimed
While I was busy picking up the fourteen million microscopic beads that were scattered across the dining room floor, Zoey yelled, "Dad! Zed did a bad thing!"
"What did he do now?" I replied. At this point, nothing she could have said would have shocked me.
"He spilled my slime!"
Zoey went to a birthday party this past weekend where they got to make slime. Unfortunately, she was allowed to bring it home with her. Unfortunately, she left it on the kitchen table, easily within the reach of the Two-Foot Wrecking Ball.
I walked into the kitchen and saw some slimy liquid on the floor. "Oh," I said, somewhat relieved. "That's okay." And then I noticed the slime was hanging off the side of the kitchen table.
And off a wicker basket near the table.
And on the refrigerator.
And all over Zed's shirt, pants, shoes, and hands.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to drink myself to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll be heading to Babies "R" Us to purchase every boyproof (something stronger than childproof) lock I can find.
Or a cage.
GHS: 9
Song of the day: Someday by The Strokes
My Life Has Become One Of Those Lame Slapsticky "Dad In Over His Head" Movies
