Untapped Source

With all this talk of alternative energy, why hasn’t anyone found a way to harness the moxie of a two-year-old? Just think, we could power our computers and our cars, not to mention our air conditioners, mowers and anything else that burns, turns, lights and rolls. Really, they have it all: vigor, zest, strength, speed, stamina, drive, passion, and zeal.

Because here’s the thing: if you don’t harness them—maybe yoke is a better word (I was going to say “direct” but thought better of it)—you’ve got widespread chaos. Destruction. Mayhem bordering on anarchy. If you need an illustration or two (other than the six or so below), check out Sh*t My Kids Ruined. Even now, I risk wreckage and ruin as I ignore Gabriel’s upstairs chant of “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” I know I’m in trouble when he goes quiet.

Shall we begin?

We’ll start with a guessing game. Name the unidentified substance below:

Nope, not cherries jubilee. That’d be an entire bottle of ketchup (floating in a pool of melted ice cream) emptied in the course of a few minutes. Not sure why it took me so long to recognize that gasping plastic bottle sound or the resonant juicy fart that follows (the boys crack up at it all the time), but we’ll just say it was the end of a long day and maybe I’d had a beer and was intentionally pretending that the boys weren’t in the adjacent room. Just suppose.

Moving on.

G’s adept at getting what he wants, no matter how well hidden (up high) it may be. His pacifiers and the iPad top the list. We keep moving the boo bowl (he calls his pacifier a boo), but he tracks it down—damn bloodhound. He will pull a three feet high stool to our four foot counter top in order to climb on top of the kitchen sink to open the cabinet above the window (above the sink) to secure a boo. He will use that same stool to climb the bar opposite the sink to reach the iPad atop a 6′ shelf that holds my kitchen pans. He will unplug the iPad from its charging spot on the bar, though it be hidden behind my computer. He will knock over a full glass of water on my computer, which will seep into its important electronic mechanisms and temporarily (thank you God—no really, thank you God) disable the airport and internet capabilities. This trespass provoked unbridled cursing on my part. I’m pretty sure the windows were open, and I’m pretty sure our neighbors could hear me yelling, “You little fucker!”

I wasn’t here for this one, and yeah, everyone’s got a Sharpie story/photo, but let me say that when you’re thankful your kid caught Hand, Foot and Mouth if only to slow him down for a day or two, well, that’s gotta mean something (besides his parents being mental, which no one is denying).

I’m sorry. Did I mention he threw two eggs down the stairs in the thirty seconds that John was trying to have a conversation with me on the phone?

You’d think we’d learn. But the kid is Fast. How else could he be emptying the entire contents of his toy shelf into a “rubble” pile on the floor one minute and climbing the stairs on the outside of the iron railing the next? The reason we knew? 1) It went quiet for thirty seconds—which either means he’s pooping or we’re in trouble; and 2) He started yelling “Help Gaba help!”

There’s more, but I’m forgetting and it’s late and if I say anything else his grandparents are going to worry excessively, so we’ll call it a night.

O wait. Here’s my recompense for those ten minutes I chose to ignore what was going on upstairs so that I could start writing this post:


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