Saturday Night Live's Molly Shannon did a little bit on the news as a terrible stereotypical comedian who would say, "And how about dieting. Don't get me StARted" in exagerated exasperation. She wore a mullet and a blazer and was hilarious. And if I might, I'd like to borrow that phrase when speaking about a subject very near and dear: control.
Don't get me stARted on being a mom and trying to control everything. It's just not possible. In fact, control must have gone to the same place my sized ten jeans went. It must be hiding in the tubs that hold my pre-pregnancy clothing (worn three years ago) , knowing it will be awhile before those gems fit me again. And when they do fit, control will leap out of the container and skitter off to reside with my pregnancy duds, an even safer place to hide seeing that I am feeling pretty done with adding more children to our family.
For me, trying to control the madness that is our home is one of my most frustrating jobs. Whenever I try to neaten up, the two year old hands of my daughter Julia tear it to shreds again, then demand dinosaur crackers, dinosaur crackers that are supposed to be eaten at a table but which somehow end up travelling around the room leaving behind crumbs.
Aside from the obvious food remains, it's always the most random things that lie, minutes after I've cleaned, on our momentarilty pristine carpet. Who finds the paddle to my stand mixer captivating? Bet you can guess. And I'll give you a hint-she's the one who is recently tall enough to reach inside the kitchen drawers. Yes, she finds these kitchen treasures so captivating that there is a major shriek and flop when my controlling hands take something away. Does she then go to the playroom to grab something designed for play? SHA! Not. But, you've gotta love the way a two year old sees the possibility in all things. I mean to her, everything is a toy.
Lately we've been playing with rigatoni, stringing it on pipe cleaners, enclosing it in tuperware tubs for mini tamborines, etc. etc. Well, as fun as the tubes can be, it will hold Jooge's attention for only so long. I mean, come on, cupcake papers and wooden spoons beckon! And as soon as the noodles have been abandoned there is the threat that my 7 month old Avery will find one and ram it in her mouth, choking on it. I can TRY to control the noodles and their whereabouts until something happens to remind me that control is just the name of a Janet Jackson song.
The other day after the stand mixer paddle made it into recreational circulation, the silver icing bag tips also found a place right in front of baby, and I looked down to find her with one in her mouth. It was my turn to shriek and luckily I was able to pluck it out before it became lodged in her precious and virginal windpipe. Picture the pile of kitchen utensils that has found its way onto the countertop to be put somewhere else. Can't wait to control THAT mess.
So, I turn to blogging, something which seems to me to be the perfect way to control at least SOMETHING other than a freshly changed dirty diaper I am ramming into the diaper genie.