Mary is officially a holy terror.
I can’t work at my desk. She wants up – not to snuggle, no. She wants to push the buttons on the printer, or remove the ball from my Trackball. Or she bounces, pointing, and saying, “Eh! Eh! Eh!” I’ll pick up Safe-Indestructible-or-Unimportant Object #1, and she’ll shake her head no. I’ll pick up Safe-Indestructible-or-Unimportant Object #2, and she’ll shake her head no. I’ll repeat, until I finally pick up something unsafe, or breakable or important, and yes, of course, that is the thing she wants.
I can’t do the laundry. She scatters clean, folded laundry faster than I can put it in the basket. She puts on the dirty clothes or tries to put them in the dryer. If the dirty clothes are hers, she runs away with them as though I was trying to steal them. And she tries to climb in the dryer.
I can’t do the dishes. She empties the dishwasher of clean or dirty dishes. She doesn’t care, on the floor they go. She did try to put away some plastic plates in the proper drawer today, but they were dirty. She climbs on the lid and starts picking up the breakable glasses and mugs from the top rack, then throws them down when she’s done looking. And she drinks whatever liquid may have collected on the lid of the washer or the bottoms of the cups.
One minute, she’ll be playing on the kitchen floor, and the next, I will turn and find she has silently climbed on top of the garbage can and is pulling at the green bananas. I told her no, but, apparently, she thinks that means, “You figure out how.”
It’s not the climbing that is so bad, it’s the premeditation, the cleverness. When Fritz was this age, I had to teach him to move a step stool to where he wanted to go. This child has needed no such instruction. The other day I caught her attempting to go from the stool to a chair in order to get to the CD player.
If she’s not playing in the sink, it’s because somebody left the toilet lid open and she’s splashing around. Today she dunked a brand new roll inside.
She empties drawers and cabinets. She climbs into the pantry and rips open boxes. Our dog has gained five pounds eating cracker crumbs. She prowls through the house just looking for trouble, dragging the spoils of her last scene of pillage with her.
If you’re laughing, it’s because you aren’t cleaning up her messes.
She’s on her third outfit today. The first got wet in the bathroom sink. When will these children learn to close the door?
The second got covered in peanut butter. Her trusty stool helped her reach the open jar.
When Fritz took her picture, she laughed, the little imp.
I can’t keep up. And her naps are simply not long enough. For me.