Listen. Mothers can never act quickly enough in a situation like this. Partly because there is an element of horrified hesitation and that delay, however slight, guarantees you that your son will, indeed, lick the damn floor very dedicatedly, much to your chagrin and his evil sister's delight and partly because children revv up whenever they are doing something wrong. It's like they know you are about to grab them up by their collars/slap their butts/tear things out of their grubby little hands and so they turn on their turbo-charger/afterburner power source. Ugh. Sick! So I try to go over the concept of germs and sickness in very excited tones (I am starting to sound more and more like Anna-pants at this point) while Mikey is crying and proclaiming that "Ewww uht my feeins, Mom!" (YOU HURT MY FEELINGS, MOM!) while my Nemesis is sitting in the corner, laughing her little butt off.
Exhibit B: Today, I said, "It is Clean Up Time. Everyone pick your toys up and put them away." It's amazing how many times you can say something and have no effect on the activity in a room. You want to feel invisible? Give birth to a couple kids...eventually as they grow more and more autonomous, they lose their ability to register the meaning of your words. It makes me panicky and anxious (true story, it really makes my heart race and I start feeling like the walls are caving in) because we have a tight schedule and I am usually A Woman Alone and so therefore, we are generally behind the tight schedule I have devised to make sure people are fed and clothed and educated and marginally clean. So, I announce the cleaning must begin. People continue playing with their toys. I begin to panic, and attempt to remain calm while I say, "Did you hear me? Clean up, kids!" with that slightly hysterical "I'm about to lose it on you hooligans" tone. Happily, that gets L and A's attention. They make vague motions that may resemble cleaning up in some society in which people throw shit in random containers and shove them under the couch.
This is now the cue Mikey has been waiting for to strip to his bare ass and announce, "Ook, Mama! I take my pants off!" He leaves his pants tangled in a pee-laden Pull-UP (I have given up on potty training that kid. We just get pissed off at each other and believe me, you can lead a boy to a toilet, but you can't make him pee or poop in it. I'll wait for him to get tired of sitting in his own excrement. See how long it takes when I pretend I don't care anymore.)
Okay so, here is the Evil Exhibit #2: I hear little Anna with her cute little baby doll wrapped in marshmallows and dipped in pink glitter voice say, "Michael! Let's go upstairs and SLAM THE DOOR!" Maniacal high pitched gleeful laughter. Michael takes a break from waggling his hips back and forth energetically while bobbing up and down on the steps (still stark naked!) to gremlin laugh his agreement. He starts up the stairs. Now, one of the cardinal sins in our household is door slamming. They all know it, too. We've gone over and over how slamming doors could potentially cost someone a finger (or two...or five!) and we've tried to keep those foamy C-shaped thingies clamped to the top of the door, but they've depleted our supply and I didn't have it in me to do another Target/BabiesRUs run this week. Anyhoo...
I put the brakes on that wonderful idea. Now here is where being a younger sibling has given me an advantage. I've been keeping my guard up, looking for this very behaviour! I remember many a plan that my darling and much-loved older sis hatched that she KNEW would land us in the doghouse (and possibly the jailhouse), but that she "delegated" to me. I did whatever she said because she was cooler than me and then you know...she had the joy of watching the rules be broken and then not get in trouble for it....hence, Anna. I told her I was onto her...and that she'd get a time-out for egging Mikey on...that made her think a little bit...anyway...just thought you should know...
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