Stranger Danger!

My son Jack often humors us with his facial expressions. Typically, he can get me smiling in a matter of seconds when he is explaining something from his day or trying to get out of trouble. But, his darling expressions garner a great deal of frustration when I am viewing them through the window of a locked door.

The necessary background information...

At his 12 month check-up the pediatrician told me Jack was delayed and she was concerned that he may not learn to walk or talk... wait, wait - this is too far back as far as blogger background information is concerned.

Fast forward...

When he was 3, I learned that Jack was tall enough to reach, and use, the dead bolt on our front door. As I am in close running for a highly coveted Mother of the Year award I must admit to the judging committee that I take the dog outside without bundling up my kids and bringing them along. Bailey and I are only outside the house by a matter of yards so she can 'go potty'. Henry is angelically napping in his crib and Jack is happy with trains. Here I am bringing Bailey back to the house (of course I scooped and had her leashed - I was, after all, out front).  I approach the front door and can see Jack through the window, just standing there looking at me.

{side note: my dog doesn't take forever to do her business}

I almost broke my nose when I face-planted on the door as my body thought it was entering the house and my brain simultaneously realized that the door was locked. Oh, dear... (internet censorship code 'dear' is probably not the word I used!).

Here is the conversation that followed. (with the boy who was declared delayed with no chance of standing on his own two legs or talking with his pie hole)

Me: <knock, knock: I was gently tapping on the door> Jack-Jack! Unlock the door for Mommy. Bailey and I are getting cold and want to come inside.
Jack: I can't. <pursed lips, I am pretty sure he rolled his eyes in a 'Duh' expression>
Me: Sure you can, just use the same knob you just used to lock the door.
Jack: I am not allowed to! <hands on hips, with a combination look of toddler exasperation and sass>
Me: What!?! <I am now irrationally envisioning a person in my house telling my son not to open the door. I also am containing my inner monologue and string of special vocabulary.>
Jack: My mom told me not to EVER open the door for strangers! <hands still on hips, he had leaned forward and pressed his face to the crack in the door to bellow this at me.>
Me: Son of a motherless BLEEP (internet censorship)... Jack open the door! I AM YOUR MOTHER!
Jack: You told me to never open the door. That is your job... rebrember?
Me: Jack, that is when I am inside with you. I open the door when I am inside. Please, unlock the door!

At this moment, a fire truck siren can be heard in the distance. Jack's face lights up! 

Jack: Mom, do you hear that?! I am going to go and see it out the back window!! Bye Mom!
Me: John Patrick, come back and unlock the door!!! <I am now banging on the door, and by all appearances from the street, trying to break and enter my own home.>

For those concerned... no worries. The neighbors are wonderful and we all have each others house keys. I just had to rank which one would laugh at me the least before picking a door to knock on and request my own key.

So fast forward to last evening.

Again, as an amazing candidate for Milky Way Galaxy Mother of the Year I displayed a quality level of laziness by not bundling the kids to head outside. I had let Bailey out the back door - off leash. (there is an unspoken rule on our street about dog walking etiquette in the front of the house compared to in the back alley) It appeared Bailey was leaving a dramatic gift on the path, so I decided to get the scooper and clean up after her.

1: The number of seconds needed for a 5 year old to lock the door. 

I actually heard the click before my foot left the back step. Ugh! I thought to myself - clean up the pile then deal with the boy(S). Bailey and I approached the house to Jack and Henry looking out the back window - laughing. Evil, sinister laughter. The kind they learned from their father when he
intentionally startles me and finds my reaction deliriously humorous.

To my delight, my daughter Emma was at the ready and had the good sense to unlock the door before the vein in my neck burst due to my elevating anger and blood pressure! Don't be fooled - I heard her chuckling as she walked away. Thankfully, I did not have to relive my lockout from two years ago. :)

Henry: The Spice of my Life

'Oh Henry!'

I can be heard saying this over and over throughout the day. Depending on the mood of the moment the tone and meter of such a simple statement is constantly changing. Henry is my third child. You have to keep your eye on the third one, at all times! But, let me backup and give you some supporting details.

Last night, as a candidate for eternal mother of the year, I was at the room parent meeting for my other children. (Did I mention I am room mom for both of my school-aged kids? That will have to be a post for another day.) Childcare was provided, so Henry came along to the meeting. As I collected him up, my friend noticed that he looked a bit ashen. I wondered if he would vomit on the way home - the other kids have dubbed our car 'the vomit comet' because of Henry. We were lucky! Phew, he looked really pale, but he was fine. I got him upstairs and laid him on his bed. He looked at me all sad and pathetic, opened his mouth and threw up all over me, and a little bit on his pillow. I whisked him up, faced him away from me and started to run for the bathroom, all the while resisting the urge to reciprocate. We were able to leave an orange track mark on the hallway wall, baseboard and carpet (such teamwork) before getting a small amount in the toilet. I know, I know... TMI. This stuff is not for the weak of stomach.

I cleaned up myself, his bed, and stripped him down. Got him into a clean, towel covered bed and watched him fall asleep. Started what would be round one of the laundry and made dinner for the other two - Jack, my 5 year old and middle child was good enough to inform me that there was something gross on the hall floor. Thank you, Jack!

I work from home and Henry goes to a sitter where someone else chases him, feeds him, occupies him, and loves on him. Remember, I am neck and neck for a major award that doesn't exist, I need to keep up appearances. I kept him home today, so as not to expose the other kids to whatever was forcefully ejected onto me last night. Did I mention I don't feel so good today? Anyway, Henry is feeling great today. Just before lunch he came into my office and we had the following conversation. Oh, by the way, Henry is 2.

Henry: Mommy, all wet, water, water.
Me: Oh Henry! What have you been doing?
Henry: Faucet.
Me: What?! Oh my goodness! What is all over your legs and arms and tummy? Why do you smell like chili powder? (My husband responded to this part of the story with: 'you should never have to ask your child why he smells like chili powder'.)
Henry: all wet, water, water, faucet!
Me: bleep - internet censorship. (Just kidding, I am sure I mumbled something fun, but wasn't feeling good enough to really express it.) Ugh, c'mon Henry let's get you in the tub.

I washed him up. The water turned red from the spices on him. We headed to the kitchen and oh my good Lord in Heaven!

Oh Henry! Do you know how much spices cost?!? Seriously, one jar of cloves is expensive. Let alone an entire shelf of spices. And, really - peanut oil, as well!

Okay, so to be fair I do bake and cook quite a bit - so, I am flattered that Henry would want to make me something when I am feeling ill. <Insert small chuckle and weak smile.> And, I am the one who did not put the soup pot away last night. It was just sitting there, waiting for a 2 year old to fill it with spices. AND, as a candidate for eternal mother of the year and model of maternal excellence, I was working and caring for Henry at the same time... something I obviously do so very well.

To save some energy and not cry over spilled milk (thank goodness he didn't add that to this mess) let's look at the positives.

1. Henry can open screw-top lids. How dexterous for a 2 year old!
2. This mess is easily tidied up via the vacuum. How lucky for tired me!
3. That cabinet needed to be purged anyway. Okay! I am reaching on this one :)

Ah well, off to the put the pampered chef down for his nap.