Remember that post a few days ago that showed the mayhem that Ada and Jasper caused? I don’t know what it is with those two, but the urge to destroy runs deep.
Since then we have had to endure:
–Writing on several walls and a dresser (courtesy of Ada). I got out the Goo Gone and the ink won’t budge. Crappy cheap markers! (Next step: Mr. Clean erasers.) I feel like I’m living in the toddler version of the Lascaux Caves; primitive neaderthal drawings everywhere I turn. I wish I could say we’re exclusively Color-Wonder from here on out, but that’s not how it goes when there are older art-inclined siblings. Apparently the padlock I put on Arabella’s art case isn’t working.
–Nerf bullets that have bitten and torn apart. This is especially sad because they are from York’s Nerf gun that he bought two days ago with his own money. Somehow the babies found the Nerf darts in the ten minutes between the time York left his room to set the table and the babies sat down to eat. And in those ten minutes the babies didn’t play with the darts. Oh no, that would be too common. Too ordinary. Their instincts said, “destroy!”, and they obeyed.
–Jasper nearly catching the house on fire by removing the little light bulb from a nightlight then sticking a screwdriver in the socket. Since it was an all-metal screwdriver I hope he got quite a shock and won’t try it again. Not only did his shenanigan blow a fuse, but it left a huge burn mark all over the plug. I can only imagine how disastrous this might have turned out. I’m pretty sure our prayers are the only thing keeping that boy alive.
–A cup of milk poured by Jasper into the drawer of my bedside table (on top of my disc burner and lots of other nice things). OK, this was actually an accident, but it pissed me off terribly anyway.
–Every band-aid in the house has been opened and . . . I haven’t found them yet. All I know is that I keep finding band-aid wrappers all over the house. And yesterday I needed a band-aid for a particularly fierce hangnail and there were none to be found. None. (Well, I did eventually find a Dora band-aid in the bottom of the medicine basket covered with baby Motrin. ) So I expect to find a wall or a cupboard that has been plastered with band-aids. I’ll let you know when I locate the evidence.
You guys, I’m sick of baby locks! I’ve been dealing with these stupid things for twelve years. I long to pull on a drawer and have it open effortlessly. I hate that everybody has to lock their bedroom doors or feel the wrath of the evil toddlers. Ada is almost four. Isn’t she supposed to be over this by now? (She’s the ringleader of the whole operation.)
This is Mister’s suggestion, “Just don’t let them out of your sight.” Do I even have to explain the ridiculousness of that idea? I was thinking more along the lines of baby boarding school or handcuffs.