Monday, September 28, 2009

I'll Never Leave Your Pizza Burnin'

All I wanted today was some leftover pizza.

Was that too much to ask? A nice, lukewarm, slightly soggy slice of pizza and a somewhat cold can of diet coke. And some time in front of the computer.

Things were on their way to working out nicely. All I had to do was get the kids to take naps--something I was certain would happen based on their eye-rubbing, bi-polar demeanors, and the fact that they'd both been up since 5:45.  So certain was I that they were minutes away from crashing that I even optimistically pulled my pizza from the fridge, placed it on some foil and stuck it in the toaster oven.  I would soon be dining and writing in peace and quiet.

Except that Elsa was having a total freak-out in her crib after I put her down. I think she banged her face on the railing, but I can't be sure. Lately, whenever I put her in the crib when she doesn't want to be there (like, all the time), she kneels in front of the bars, grabs onto them like a wrongfully imprisoned captive, and wails. Only I think she may have gotten too big for her britches and actually tried to pull up, thus hitting her chubby, tear-streaked face on the wooden bars.

This happened while I was trying to get Rollie some lunch. I've been employing this new discipline technique with Rollie (which I'm sure you'll be hearing about soon), and part of the idea is to give him choices throughout the day so he feels like he's got some sort of control over his life (unlike mommy, who feels like she has absolutely no control over anything whatsoever, except for possibly her bladder). So the choice he was grappling with at the moment was if he wanted to take a nap now, or eat his lunch first and then take a nap.  He chose to eat first.  But that was part of the deal.  To actually EAT.

Apparently he didn't get that part. Because as I returned from settling Elsa back down (ie, loosened her Kung Fu grip on her crib bars, popped her pacifier back into her mouth, replaced her horizontally in her crib and rubbed her back until she stopped hyperventilating and passed out), Rollie wasn't upholding his end of the deal.  Oh no.  I entered the kitchen just in time to see his peanut butter and jelly sandwich sail through the air and land at our dog's feet.  And before I could snatch it up and cram the sandwich into his sweet little mouth (thus abiding by the Five-Second Rule), our dog gobbled it up.

Without a word, I snapped Rollie from his booster chair and hauled him into his room for some Time Out (also abiding by the new discipline technique--calmly placing the offender in Time Out until he's ready to behave like a human being--meaning that Rollie will be in Time Out until he's twenty-five).

Unfortunately, this new technique does not coincide well with Potty Training.

I realized my mistake as soon as I closed his door.  I barged back into Rollie's room to see him lying on his tummy, a dark spot spreading across the carpet beneath him.

He looked up, eyes wide, and said, "I went pee-pee, Mommy."

I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply, began counting to ten...and smelled burning pizza.  Sigh.

Eventually they both took naps.  And I had a bowl of cereal for lunch.  But at least I got in some peace and quiet time.  Somehow, that always eclipses everything, doesn't it?

1 comment:

  1. Goodness--I'll try not to bitch about my woes so much. They must pale in comparison! ;o) Woops, I just peed on my computer.