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Browsing Tag: life with small children

I Had Personal Space Once

I realized the other day that I keep the door wide open when I use the bathroom, every time. Do you want to know when, exactly, I realized this? It was the moment not long ago when I was using the bathroom, heard the chatter of voices outside it, and remembered with a shock that we had company. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I had visitors in my house, and everyone of them could’ve heard me tinkle if they’d wanted because there I was, door open to the world, just doing the thing that most people think is private. This, my friends? This is life with small children. They hover. They follow you from room to room. They sit in doorframes to watch you reach for the toilet paper, verbally documenting your every move.  Then they get offended when you ask for privacy. They open the doors that are shut. They bang on the doors that are locked, they whine, they stick their fingers through the tiny gap underneath the doors because “WHATAREYOUDOINGINTHEREANDWHYCAN’TIWATCH?!” And: They want to sit on your lap while you’re nursing they baby. They want to sit on…

It Hit the Fan

It was the Saturday before Mother’s Day. David was visiting with some family back in Baltimore, and I was exhausted. It’d been a long day, I was tired, and I just couldn’t face the idea dishes and cooking and cleaning on this solo Saturday night. So I dug up a restaurant gift card my mom had kindly given us a while back, dragged the girls out of the house right before dinner time, and headed out to get take-out.  Right before we got into the car, Quinn looked at me, grimaced, grabbed at her diaper, and said “Oh, potty, Mommy, poopy-potty.” I ran my hand over the back of her pants, but didn’t feel the telltale lump, and put her in her carseat anyway, figuring she’d be fine in a slightly wet diaper ’till we got home. Don’t judge me. I know you’ve done it, too. But what you probably have not done is forget all about that wet diaper, wait ten long minutes in a crowded restaurant for your dinner, bring the food and the children back in the house…

Selective Memory in the Making

The girls were standing at the front window, ogling our innocent neighbor as he mowed the swath of land that borders the road across from our houses.  He was hunched over the steering wheel, his jacket zipped tight, his white beard rustling a little in the brisk wind. If he’d caught sight of the two children acting like he was the most spectacular event that’d happened to them all day, well, I don’t know. My kids are easily entertained. “Who wants to read a book with me before Quinn’s nap?” I said, walking out of the kitchen. “Meee!” Two squeaky voices broke out in unison, and the girls spun away from the window to come racing into the living room.  Saoirse made a beeline for the baskets that house the board books in the coffee table as Quinn came bounding around the table, arms raised high, looking at me with a grin that made it seem I was suddenly a white-haired novelty on a ride-on lawnmover.  She clambored onto the couch. “Happy, happy, happy,” she said. I’m going to stop the story…