|Sweet non-crazy normal children|
|crazy insane child|
I remember back when I was a regular adult, calling friends to catch up, making phone calls about issues we may have had with the internet (we have the worst internet luck, but that can be another post), scheduling dr's appointments. Oh those were the days, I never thought I would miss making a simple phone call uninteruppted.
Last week I emailed our new realtor, I knew better than to try and talk on the phone to someone other than my mom. Well he called me back. I had to resort to locking myself in a bedroom, holding the door closed, and praying that no one killed each other until I could finish this 5 minute phone call. I'm sure he thought I must have forgotten to mention that I worked in a mental institution from the screams, shrieks and pounding on the door I am sure he could hear on the other line.
Since moving I have a strict "no toys in the dining room" policy. The room is just too darn echo-y, and I need at least one room in the house where I don't have to worry about stepping on legos (ouch!) or tripping over a train track. For some reason when I am on the phone all bets are off.
|super loud ride on car. 1 of 4 or 5, I can't even remember how many we have anymore|
The second I leave the doorway, toys are thrown as fast as possible into the dining room, hoping that since my reflexes are slowed from talking and holding a phone, they can cover the floor before I realize what is going on. And it usually works for the first few seconds.
|stuffed bees thrown into the dining room|
I've tried standing in the doorway while talking, hoping my presence right in front of them will deter them from chucking blocks and balls, but that only results in things being thrown AT me to try and get me out of the way.
|the threshold that no toys shall cross|
When I'm off the phone I have some pretty good kids, sure they like to explore and get into things, but I would worry if they sat on the floor like lumps all day and didn't even try and find something interesting to do. But all bets are off when that phone is in my hand, and something clicks in their brains bringing out wild untamed children who I do not recognize.
In the 10 minute phone call I had this morning, they managed to ride their sit on cars around the dining room (SO LOUD), throw blocks on the floor, get into the snack cupboard and try to eat crackers, pull all of the towels out of the bathroom cabinet and climbed in, purposely wake up their sleeping sister, run into my bathroom, throw my make up on the floor and brake it, jump from a dining room table chair to the recliner and scream bloody murder every time they *just* missed or I stopped them, throw stuffed bees at me, and just look at me yelling random nonsense words for no other reason than to make noise.
|broken make up|
|new favorite place to make a mess|
|Sleeping baby, thank goodness she is used to her brothers nonsense and just closed her eyes and went back to sleep|
So if you call and I don't answer, or I sound like I am rushing to get off the phone, it's not because I don't want to talk to you. I would love nothing more than a conversation with someone over the age of 3, but most likely the longer I talk the more my house will resemble the aftermath of a tornado by the time I get off. Maybe try me again in 10 years.