I read a while back somewhere about a mother's idea to keep her toddlers busy playing in a tub of rice on a mat on the floor. It seemed like River was ready for such a project.
I first put all the fun on the kitchen table. Riv still managed to get rice everywhere. Then I moved him to the floor on a mat. Still more rice everywhere. I finally got smart and moved everything outside.
To keep my sanity, I've been reading a compilation of Erma Bombeck's columns.
Let me share her insights.
"I've never met three children who could understand me less. When I laid out pajamas, put the sides up on the crib and turned on the night-light, they came alive like the "big midnight show," standing on their heads, bringing out all the toys and playing patty-cake with the dog.
When I picked up the phone, like mechanical robots on schedule they gargled bleach, rolled potatoes across the floor, climbed on the top of the TV set and took off all their clothes.
When I said "No," they giggled; "Not now," they bit me; "Come to Mama," they ran into the traffic; "Let me see what you have in your hand," they ate it; "The strained lamb is good for you," they blew it back in my face.
Communicate with a toddler? I'd sooner take my chances with an untrained, excited puppy on a new white carpet."
I still laugh helplessly every time I read those lines. She hits the nail on the head. Why don't we just admit to the fear and frustration of parenting and have a good time with it?
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| She looks about how I felt about the whole "fun" project. Suspicious. |
