My husband likes to keep the camping stove under our bed. He feels storing it in the garage would subject it to heat and it would cease to function. He and I feel very differently on th subject. Our son, however, thinks it makes a amazing step stool. He pulls it out from under the bed, and stands on it to reach the things on the dresser. This is where his destruction increases exponentially, because he has also grown since the last time he was using the stove-stool.
Yesterday, it was eerily quiet; and, naturally, I went to go find the boy. He was in my room, on the stove stool, digging through my jewelry box. There was necklaces in my underwear, and a bra was holding dozens of little beads from a now-broken bracelet. At bedtime, I also noticed that a bottle of nail Polish had been unscrewed and let precariously on the edge of the dresser. It's cranberry red and would pair nicely with my sea-foam-green carpet, no? (Carpet was here when we moved in, I'm waiting for the heathens to grow up before we replace it.)
I chased him off of the stove and out of my room three times this morning. Each time he was digging through my jewelry box, which now is in such a tangled state I'm putting off untangling it. And each time I cleaned up the mess.
The last time, I stood there, nursing the baby, and made him put it back. For some reason, the tove is easy to pull out, but harder to put back. Maybe the extra I work will deter him from further escapades. For a child who refuses to speak, he understands a shocking amount and can be very good at following directions.
But that child is STUBBORN! I've probably mentioned this many times before, because I mean it. I am ever so tired of trying to get this child to eat. He changes his likes and dislikes often; and I just want to make sure he doesn't go to bed hungry, because it won't be Daddy who gets up with him in the middle of the night to make toast.
Last night, I had absolutely had enough. I was surprised at how much old he'd gone through, while I had seen him eat quite a bit. Tony and I sat down to eat dinner with him, where I was firsthand witness to him take a. Huge drink of milk, and then he spit it into his stir fry! Fine! No more milk, he can eat it the way it is. Right? Not a chance. He played, and mashed, and spilled, and refused to eat anything. So I calmly explained tht if he wasn't going to eat, he was going to bed. I hope he understood me.
We cleaned him up and he was in bed by 7:15! I fed a sleep Ethan and put him to be a half hour later. And there we were, Mama and Daddy alone before eight o'clock! The world hasn't ended yet, so it must have been a dream. Shower, a little time to relax, and we were in bed by ten. MUST have been a dream!
This morning we were having a battle over oatmeal. C is not a big early breakfast person, he munches a little, and then really eats around nine or ten. I fixed us some oatmeal and we sat together, he took two bites and was done. I didn't make him sit at the table and eat it, but I'll be darned if I'm going to make him something else. He whined, he cried, he avoided the oatmeal like the plague. He went in the fried and got out the ham and cheese. He pulled protein bars out of the snack drawer. And still, I told him oatmeal, then I'd make him what he wanted. And it worked!!!
About eleven he finally walked over, at the oatmeal, and showed me the empty bowl! Lots of hugs and highs fives and "good jobs" and then we made him some scrambled eggs with spinach.
He'll or high water, he's going to be healthy AND appreciate what he's been given!
You weren't destructive. You were a perfect child! (^_^)
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