
This is the typical evening at my house. 5pm, colic, and toddler melt-downs.
"What is going on?" My husband, Mark sticks his head out at the top of the stairs. From my view on our bed consoling a screaming Abigail, 3 months, his head looks like one of those things you whack in a kids game. And honestly, if I was within reach of a big rubber mallet, and his head, I just might smack it. While he watches, our toddler, Aidan, 16 months old, is drug past him by our ten yr old Stephan. You see, Aidan isn't supposed to be in Stephan's room.
"All Hell has broken loose." I comment while Aidan turns red with protests as Stephan lugs him away from his bedroom door.
"What?" Mark's head turns from watching Aidan to me. We have a gate at the top of our stairs so all Mark can do is lean over. Unless he's willing to enter the fray that is. But at this point he does what any sane Dad would do. "Dinner's almost ready."
He retreats.
I long for something to throw.
Only moments before Abby had been happily batting at the toys on her baby gym. While the boys were downstairs doing what we fondly call "laps". This is where Aidan is set free in the mid-level of our house and Stephan chases him around as Aidan gets into the un-childproofed home office area. Mark and I both have our offices in the large area meant to be a dining room at this level of our house. I had been upstairs with the baby gym spread out on our queen size bed, enjoying the few glorious moments of Abby cooing and smiling. Because "Happy Abby" moments are few these days. She has colic and a fussy nature.
But then, the boys came. You see their father sent them out of the mid-level because not only do our offices reside on that level, so does the kitchen. While the kitchen cabinets are all child-proofed, trying to cook anything while Aidan does "laps" is something only a goat herder could handle. Well no, even he'd be hard pressed to cook while herding the goats. Maybe a circus performer? You know the ones who do all the tricks with tiny little dogs running everywhere at once. Maybe he could cook and handle a toddler invading our home office. Because home offices are wonderful spots. For toddler wreckage. With the advance in modern technology have come items like the cordless mouse, which Aidan can hide as fast as you can say "Microsoft."
Back to Abby, who had only minutes before been fussing over a diaper change, finding joy in the dangly objects of her gym when her brothers came up. Now if only Stephan had come, things would have been fine. But Stephan combined with Aidan equals only two things. NOISE and CHAOS. Okay sometimes there is also a big JOY along with it, but that depends on the moment. However, when it comes to evening time, especially 5pm, this equals bedlam.
They decided to play "where is brother?" This where Stephan hides behind doors and Aidan finds him. This also involves lots of running, laughing and squealing, all lovable sounds in our house, but not for Abigail. For her, this was simply NOISE. It was not noise she was creating, it was not noise she could locate, and it was not noise she could process. So while the boys were laughing and romping, Abigail shorted out.
I know that this means Abby needs quiet and dark. I also know she needs these things because not only is she having a sensory overload but because it IS 5pm and this is usually when she goes down for a nap. (The better to save up for waking mommy and daddy at night.) And this is where the fun begins. I tell Stephan to let Aidan visit his room while I put Abby down in the Amby bed. This is now the only redeeming quality of this $251 hammock, Abby naps in it. Yet in order to get Abby down, I need to cuddle her on her side, dim the shades, and start her nature sounds CD. But I also need Aidan and Stephan to get out of my closet. I tell Stephan to let Aidan check out "big brothers" room while I put Abby down.
Stephan drags Aidan out of my bedroom, which, of course starts up another bout of red-faced protest. I kick the door closed and try to get Abby to settle down. Unfortunately, while Stephan is letting his brother explore the forbidden zone (a.k.a. big brother's room), I suddenly need to use the restroom. I recall Stephan.
"Bounce this while I go pee." I hand the light bouncing of Abby's Amby bed over to Stephan and make for the master bedroom facilities.
"But Mom, Aidan's in MY room!" Stephan takes ahold of the spring and begins lightly bouncing Abby.
"He'll be fine for the 30 seconds it'll take me to use the bathroom." Famous last words. Once I am seated, I notice that my darling husband has finished the roll and not supplied the bathroom with a fresh one. "Errmm Stephan?"
"What?" He wails from the side of the Amby bed, making me pray Abby doesn't begin screaming again.
"Stop jiggling the bed, go to the cabinet under the sink, and get me some toilet paper."
"What?" Stephan's voice draws closer and Abby is still quiet. Either she's asleep or her big brother has joggled her brains with extra hard Amby bed jiggling. I pray it's the first. Considering I have not yet heard Aidan pull any book shelves down on himself, things are still okay. Stephan has a developmental disorder, akin to high-functioning autism, so giving directions can be difficult.
"I need the toilet paper under the sink."
"Which sink?" I take a deep breath as he comes to the bathroom door. I try to give him exact, logical, linear directions.
"The toilet paper is under our bathroom sink. The cabinet has a child lock on it. Press the lock down and get the toilet paper."
"Why did you say think instead of sink?"
"What?" Now I'm sure that Aidan has had sufficient time to either climb a bookshelf or begin choking himself with the cords to Stephan's numerous game consoles.
"It sounded like you said think." Stephan laughs while he opens the cabinet.
"Stephan you know Mommy has multiple sclerosis and sometimes, especially in heavy stress, she slurs." I have been slurring an awful lot since Abigail came into our household. It's either her fault or the fault of Aidan who began walking and arguing in toddler fashion all at once. Whoever caused it, Mommy no longer has ahold of her tongue. Mommy slurs. Mommy forgets words and Mommy finds herself trapped in the bathroom. All before she's had her evening drink.
"What is heavy stress?"
"Oh I don't know", I sigh "how about sitting on the toilet needing toilet paper, while your little brother tears apart your room and your father is nowhere to help." But Stephan doesn't get sarcas. He responds to the literal. The toilet paper roll flies through the crack in the bathroom door.
"HE'S TEARING APART MY ROOM?!?!?!?" Stephan hollers and I wince as I hear his heavy footfalls down the hall to get his brother.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Abby is still silent. She's actually sleeping! I quickly finish turning on her nature sounds, adjusting the blinds, and getting the door shut. As I look down the hall, Stephan has decided Aidan is no longer welcome in his room and is tugging him out. By the feet. Stephan shuts his bedroom door and Aidan lets out a screech, then gets up and begins to head-bang the door. Stephan looks at me and says "I didn't hurt his head!" while I stand in awe that my toddler is actually slamming his head against the door in protest. I tell Aidan to come to Mommy. This is a bad decision because toddlers are single-minded and now he is focused on the master bedroom. He runs past me, shoves on my door and bursts into the bedroom.
I yell,"Stephan, grab him!" , as I run downstairs to recruit Mark. But, as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I hear a blood–curdling scream and run back up. "If your sister wakes up I swear I'll have someone's head!" (It never occurs to me that in moments like these MY yelling doesn't help things.)
Stephan hauls Aidan outof my room and holds the door knob. I push myself back through the gate at the top of the stairs and assess the situation. Abby is not screaming, but Aidan is able to push open the bedroom door witout using the handle. We've got two types of handles in the house. Aidan has figured out only one. Our bedroom has the handle he doesn't know, but the door is not closing properly. Therefore, Stephan is now holding the door closed and looking panicked.
"It won't stay closed." He wails. Stephan looks like HE needs a nap.
"It's okay honey, let me see." Stephan moves from the door and Aidan pushes it open. I mutter a few choice curse words and move the rest of the way down the hall to pull Aidan from the bedroom. He bellows at me while Stephan and I yank on the handle. We hear the door stick and we both smile. "There."
Now it's time to put Aidan down. Stephan, having experienced enough noise and orders, retreats to his room. I grab Aidan from underneath his arms and swing him into the air. At this time he is a mess. He's over-played and tantrumed to the extreme. His cheeks are red, his eyes teary, and his nose, well he has Toddler snot going. Rivers of it dripping down his face.
"Nigh nigh time sweetie." I say softly. I plunk Aidan into his crib, and realize there is no Binky in sight. "Damnit!" I've been systematically hiding Aidan's Binkies because we are trying to wean him from continual Binky usage. After all, we do want him to use language someday. However this intervention has led to Aidan's new talent for thieving Abby's Binkies to satisfy his addiction. I have forgotten to get a Binky from hiding for the times allotted for Aidan's binky fix, nap time and bedtime. Aidan looks at me, then the crib with no Binky , and is set off on another wailing session because he simply CANNOT sleep without a Binky! I race back into the master bedroom, praying his sobbing does not awaken Abigail.
With the grace of a panicked elephant I fling open the master bedroom door, gallop past the Amby bed and lunge for my underwear drawer, which is where I am now stashing the Binkies. However, Mark began installing cable in our bedroom this very day and the furniture is moved. My hip slams into the Amby bed and it begins to swing widlly from its hanger, twirling in the air.
"CRAP!" I gasp and cover my mouth and watch in horror as the hammock spins. Will the movement wake her? What about my cursing? I hold my breath. Aidan lets out another wail. I yank out the drawer, retrieve a Binky, and dash for the door. If Aidan's howling doesn't stop, Abby will surely be awake again. I dash back down the hall into the nursery where Aidan is standing in his crib, snot freely flowing, throwing his stuffed pooh-bear on to the floor in protest. I pop the Binky in his mouth and he pauses. He looks at me, blinks, and lowers himself down into fetal position, butt in air. I thank God and leave the room.
I pause in the hallway. Aidan is down, Abby is down, and Stephan is playing video games. Dinner should be in moments, but for now, I have everything solved. I jauntily waltz down the stairs and into the kitchen. I smile at Mark as he finishes cooking and look at the baby monitor. Silence. I am a hero. A domestic Goddess. I can do this! And then, as if a bell had signaled the beginning of round #2, the little red lights on the baby monitor shoot straight up and I hear "WAAAAAAA!" Mark turns and looks at me as if I haven't done job.
"I thought you had them napping?"
I look for a big rubber mallet.