Egress Excitement

Some people have night nurses, some people have daytime babysitters, some people have mother's helpers... well, I'm looking for a get-out-of-the-house savior. I'm not that picky -- it could be a little goblin or elf, it could be a fairy princess, heck, it could be a real person who magically appears when we need to go somewhere. I need help, though. I hate the whole gosh dang process. I'm telling you, getting an infant and a crazy toddler out was approximately 1000 times easier than getting these two little people out now. First of all, trying to drag Molly away from a creative pursuit is an exercise in pulling my hair out. I've done five minute warnings of our departure time, I've done timers, I've done handshakes, I've let her pick her ending point on a coloring project, I've decided not to go anywhere, I've pleaded and cajoled (that's worked super well), I've lost my marbles... it's painful almost every time. And then, THEN, if we somehow make it close to the door, it's like I've got a goldfish on my hands who can't seem to remember the task at hand for more than eight seconds at a time without wandering off to find something more interesting than a crazy mom who is sweaty and red faced and taking deep breaths until she's hyperventilating (and writing run on sentences). I usually move on to Jack at this point and just try and get one success story under my belt (and pretend that I have any control) but when I look up, Molly is usually asking me what I said to her like I've totally confused her. I need what on my feet? What are these sneakers of which you speak?A jack-what? Jack-et? Hat? What is this madness? I'm fairly sure that I have committed every parental sin in an effort to get anywhere even close to on time (a challenge before I had two people running in two different directions). I'm not letting Jack off the hook either... chasing him down and keeping him in the same vicinity of the door is like herding cats, which you may remember from previous posts, is one of my favorite things to do. Once we manage to launch ourselves out the door, I'm inevitably met with shouts of joy to be out of the house -- there are puddles to stomp in, grass to run in, mud to slip on -- it's glorious every time. Now, I just need to remind my little forgetful goldfish of that before Battle: LA gets a sequel Battle: Doyle Front Door. On the other hand, maybe my kids are pushing me to try out for the sequel to Mars Needs Moms since I clearly look like I belong there when departure time rolls around...


Below is our latest and greatest object in my love/hate crosshairs as it relates to the above issue. One rainy afternoon a few weeks ago, I decided to make Molly a cardboard box house. Goodness knows that we have more cardboard than a cardboard farm right now so I thought I'd put some to good use. Well, it was a hit... and it still is a hit and is 90% of the reason that we cannot exit the premises in an orderly fashion right now. This house is intricately decorated and gets more so by the minute... especially the minutes that we are supposed to be out the door. My patting myself on the back for giving Molly this little gem of personal space (it's her house and I put it in the office, which is supposed to be off limits to Jack because of  the damage he has wreaked on my b,s,g, and h keys on my keyboard... which are sitting nicely next to my computer...) has turned into me slapping myself upside the head. It works great when it provides quiet entertainment and breathing room but it is IMPOSSIBLE to drag her away from it because really, who can tell an artist when her masterpiece is done? When we make it to the car and everyone is strapped in, I sometimes review the madness (or I review my mindfulness exercises and live in the big, beautiful world of denial) and tell myself that having dedication and curiosity and spunk is a good thing and I should be proud of my wandering, questioning, slightly intense duo. Other times I wonder if I can do all my errands for the next 35 years in the next hour so that I don't have to leave the house ever again... or at least not until summer when jackets, shoes, and hats are a little more optional.