The Tasmanian Devil and the Tooth Fairy

Oh my gosh, seriously?  I swear, parenting Ben is like being the trainer for the Tasmanian Devil.  Someday if he reads this, and I'm in the looney bin, I hope he understands what put me there.

This morning is a great example, but mind you, this is just one snippet of the type of stuff I deal with every day. 

I set my alarm and woke up early to take a shower before the kids woke up.  But Ben must have figured out my plan because as I was hopping into the shower, the door creaked open and there he was in his Batman pajamas, with his binky in his mouth and his Lion in his hand.  I suggested he lie down in my bed while he waited the seven minutes it was going to take me to shower.  I could do it in five, but our water pressure stinks, so half of those minutes are just to rinse off.

Off he padded, and I said a small prayer that he listened to me.

Two minutes later he was back with Jack's hair pomade in hand.  It's the super sticky stuff that you only need the teeny tiniest bit of to make your spikes stick up all day.  Ben was unscrewing the top of the jar saying "Mama, I sink I need just a little bit of this for my hair".

We've been down this road before and I knew what he meant was "I need a really giant handful of this glue to wipe all over my head, body and anything else I come into contact with before you catch me".

I was soaking wet so I had to try and stop him using only words...my work was cut out for me.  I used my calmest "no problem" voice and told him that it wasn't good for his hair so I would get him his own hair gel when I got out in five minutes.  I asked him to please put the jar on the counter and go lie down in my bed to wait for me. 

Of course he didn't, that goes without saying.

So I used my patented count to three threat (with a time out at the end) and he put the jar on the counter on TWO.  Disaster averted, and off he padded again.

Please Lord, just let him lie down in my bed for the FOUR remaining minutes of my shower?

One minute later when I'm beginning to rinse my shampoo suds out I hear him again "Ummm, Mama?  What does this thing do?" 

I open one eye to peek at what he's got and sure enough...it's a razor.

A FREAKING RAZOR!!!!!

In all honesty, that was all my fault. I'd shaved my legs in the tub the night before and left the spent Intuition cartridge in its case waiting for me to bring it down to the kitchen trash to make sure that a certain little person didn't find it in my bathroom trash.   But he was too stinking quick for me.

Covered in suds I snatched the razor away from him before he sliced his finger open, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he'd better go lie down in my bed for the TWO LOUSY MINUTES I needed to finish.

Off he went, still sucking on his binky.

With one minute left, as I'm putting conditioner in my hair, I hear Jack yelling at Ben (not an unusual occurrence) but with the shower on it took me a few seconds to decipher..

"Ben, stop blah blah bla, you're going to hurt yourself!!"

"Mommmmmm!  Ben is hitting me with his pillow pet!"
(no, that can't be right, I think)

"Mom!  Ben is sticking his finger into the electrical outlet!!"

Bingo!  That's more believable!

I start out softly, but within seconds am shrieking like a madwoman,

"Benjamin Jay Mallett if you do not get in here right this minute...That's it!  I'm counting to three and you're going to get a time out!  One, twooooooo, THREE!!"  Get in here Benjamin!  Get in here because if I have to come out there soaking wet and get you then so help me God you're getting a spanking!!!"

Oh yeah.  The ultimate throwdown.  The spanking threat, only reserved for the most egregious of offenses.  And all before 7:30am.  Good times.

Finally he came and told me I was yelling too loud.  So I gritted my teeth and in the softest voice I could muster I said "Sit on the rug Benjamin."

"No." he said.

"Sit on the RUG, Benjamin."

"Nope."

"SIT on the RUG, NOW, Benjamin"

"Ummm, lalalalalala" he sung while making silly gestures with his hand as if to say "I can't heeeaaarr youuuuu".

"If you don't sit down on that rug right now, Benjamin, you are getting a spanking."

"Lalalallaallalalalalalal" (giggle).

I had no choice.  I'd thrown down the gauntlet.  I'd given him every opportunity to comply, and he did what he does every day, which is the 3 year old equivalent of spitting in my face.  In fact, some days he actually DOES spit in my face. 

So Ben earned himself a lovely, sopping wet, pre-breakfast spank on the bottom.

And then, blessedly, he finally sat down on the rug for the fourteen seconds of shower I had left.

SEVEN MINUTES.  SEVEN.

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In other news, Jack had three teeth pulled last week.  I'll edit this and post a picture later, but he's awfully cute without them!

Here I am, back before bed, to show off the teeth, or "wigglies" as Jack's dentist, Dr. Dave calls them.  With pediatric dentistry in the new millennium, terms like lidocaine swab, novocaine injection and tooth extraction are not used.  Instead they swab "special cleaner" and then "spray you" with "water".  Then they "measure" your "wigglies" and sometimes they are just so darn WIGGLY that they just pop out!

Jack was onto them, and their tricksy ways...but he rolled with it and came out smiling and laughing.  I swear, it's like a cult there.  A really, really GOOD cult though.  Led by a happy, Jeff Goldblum-esque guy named Dr. Dave, and run by a group of women who eat the ideology for breakfast.  Even when I booked the appointment, it was to have his "wigglies' taken care of.  I kid you not!

Here he is in all his glory, with missing wigglies and a peeling nose.

One of those is his "extra" tooth...I'm guessing it's the one that looks like a small carrot, but I could be wrong.

And now, I am off to write my to-do list and procrastinate some more.  T minus seventeen hours until the ship leaves for Massachusetts!!