Payback

What a bitch.

I’m talking about the comeuppance I received at 6:45 this morning. Not the perpetrator of said comeuppance–though the B-word would totally describe Das Big Boy this morning–but the swift reality check after last night’s bliss. When Little Liebchen and I went into greet him, he noticed my Kindle which reminded him that he broke my previous Kindle. (Through no fault of his own. I let him use it on the potty and he dropped it at just the wrong angle. Amazon replaced it for free! (Thanks, Amazon! It’s true that they do lots of evil stuff but their customer service really is INCREDIBLE. Probably the best I’ve ever encountered.)). Anyway, this breakage memory reminded me that he’d broken a souvenir cup while climbing on his shelves last night, per our awesome sitter’s report. Not the biggest deal either, but I wanted to remind him that climbing is not ok.

Yes sir, that's my baby sitting on the kitchen table covered in Halloween candy to which she had helped herself.

Yes sir, that’s my baby sitting on the kitchen table covered in Halloween candy to which she had helped herself.

But thinking about things he’d broken sent him into a huge, epic tantrum that lasted almost an hour. Lots of tears and yelling and door slamming and saying he wanted to throw things. These days, he’s having a lot of issues with guilt, and I’m trying to help him process his feelings while letting him know that tantrums are not the way to express them. Not sure how well it’s working and I welcome your suggestions. A wise Red Baroness once told me that the terrible twos were a misnomer, that really it was the terrible threes and the fuck-you fours. Pretty sure she was on to something. For every bit cuter and funnier and more chatty and charming Das Big Boy becomes with age, he also becomes more challenging. Thus is life, I guess. But I wanted you to know that this morning I totally paid for what I got last night. Proving that every time you start to hate me for the charmed life I sometimes portray on this blog, I get what’s coming to me.

But we got the grumpies out of the way before eight am, and then were free to do things like go to the mall (where the wing-dinger was LL; do NOT try to get between that child and a toy stroller). But we actually had a lovely time and they let me shop (by which I mean I stashed them in the double stroller and shopped), and then we played with toys we had no intention of buying. And on the way home we went to the car wash! It was a first for the kids (and for my three-year-old car). They loved it and were impressed to see the famous bird poop finally washed away.

Das Big Boy and the firefighter. So fun! Thanks, G and P!

Das Big Boy and the firefighter. So fun! Thanks, G and P!

Gigi and Papa then called to invite Das Big Boy on an outing, so they took him to the fire station and for lunch while LL napped and I cleaned out my car. Herr Husband and Rocky are the only people who can fully attest to what an epic undertaking this was, although I suppose anyone who’s peeked into the car at a preschool drop-off also knows the extent of the mess (and has surely judged me harshly for it). Seriously, last week DBB had a chat with a police officer through his open window and I was afraid the officer was going to run my plates and call child protective services. Now the car is just dirty as opposed to dirty and messy. Once it’s fully clean, I’ll post before and after pictures. Maybe.

Tonight we had our usual dads-away dinner with Dr. G. and her beautiful brood. The topic turned to college rapists. Dr. G.’s five-year-old daughter took an interest in the conversation, but Dr. G. managed to convince her we were talking about grapes, and guys we’d known whom we’d called grapes because they’d eaten a lot of blueberries which stained their skin. Little Lady G. was unfazed by this logic. Sigh. If only campus grapes were the biggest danger facing young women….

And then LL took off her pants for no reason in the restaurant.

Now both kids are in bed and I have some HGTV coming to me. I *never* got the appeal until about a month ago, when a sitter left it on. And now I feel like Love it or List it basically sums up my life. Any thoughts out there? Should I love my house or list it?

NB: my mother and husband believe that I like looking at real estate because the houses are clean and organized, not necessarily because they are empirically better than my house. Not sure I can refute this theory.

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2 Comments on “Payback”

  1. Susan says:

    Isn’t it amazing we are *still* talking about campus rapists? How little has changed, but ih how I wish it would. Hope it was a lovely day after the tantrum subsided!!

    • Leda says:

      It is so, so horrifying. I feel like the stories are even worse than when we were at Dartmouth. Is that possible? I do have to say that the women (and men) of Dartmouth were incredibly lucky to have you as our advocate, guide, counselor, and educator. So often when I read terrible tales from other universities today I think, “Susan would NEVER have let the Dartmouth administration get away with that!” Fifteen years ago, our education and advocacy was light years ahead of where most places are now (and I would argue that we had/have, if anything, more difficult gender and drinking cultures than most places). So hopefully you can feel good about that! Thank you! And hope you’re well! xoxo


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