The Family Curse

All my life, I grew up hearing that every crisis that occurred in our family occurred when my father was in Columbus, where he worked during the week.

"There was a bat in the living room, flying all around, and I had to figure out how to kill it because you father was in Columbus."

"The dog killed a bat that could have been rabid, and I had to take care of it because your father was in Columbus."

"Godzilla tried to crawl in the third story window and I had to figure out how to defeat him because your father was in Columbus."

The refrain became familiar, and we chuckled about it.

We have been reading "The Lady of Shalott" to BC and it has become a favorite of hers. She now knows the line, "'The curse is come upon me,' cried the Lady of Shalott." Matt is out of town this week on business. This morning, when I was in her room getting her ready for the day, she became very agitated and said, "The curse is come upon my room!" She repeated it several times, I affirmed that she was indeed saying what I thought she was saying, and I went on with my day.

Later in the day, when she was getting ready for her nap, she again was agitated and said that the curse had come upon her room. She pointed at her closet and looked at me with wide-eyed expectation. Apparently, the curse was in the closet. I pointed at everything within reach, but none of it satisfied her as constituting or containing the curse. I begin to point at things out of reach. Sure enough, one of those things was the curse. Simply identifying it was utterly insufficient. I next needed to ERADICATE it. And what was "it"? It was a small black duffel bag that contained a few books on natural birth and breastfeeding. I refuse to believe that she could possibly know those books were related to her little brother in any way. I choose instead to believe it was an entirely irrational conclusion that a black duffel bag contained an unidentified evil. After much effort, a rain of feathers from old ballet costumes stored nearby, a vacuuming frenzy to clean up the feathers, and a few frustrated exclamations, I retrieved the duffel bag. I started to put the vacuum cleaner away and realized that she was dragging the duffel bag out of her room. She was completely committed to its removal. Now. Without delay. And then she took her nap without further ado.

After some errand-running this evening, I treated myself to a Chai and brought it back to the house. Stupidly, I set it on the table where she could reach it. She was trying to take something else off the table and she knocked the Chai over and it went everywhere. On her. On the wooden table. On the beige carpet. On the couches. Everywhere. And she was a screaming mess. A hot screaming mess, you might say. Thank God she was unhurt, but what a mess!

I immediately texted my mother: "Toddler scalds herself and destroys part of the living room. And where is Matt? Wait for it . . . COLUMBUS! It's a family curse. And taking the black duffel bag out of the closet did not fix it."

In fact, it may have made it worse. I then dropped my phone into a bowl full of water.

I'm going to bed now.

Tonight was a night of much frustration. Matt is sick and I had been outside gardening for several hours this afternoon and therefore did not have anything done inside the house. Because she is a toddler and human, BC chose to take massive advantage and be as difficult as possible at dinner.

Matt ate quickly and then ran out to mow the lawn before it rains again. I was doing dishes. This was her chance to make me crazy. She sang songs and demanded more juice and argued with me and talked to the dog and did everything BUT eat her dinner. I finally sat down with her and tried to feed her dinner. She then planted her feet firmly on the table. Like a barbarian. In a manner that no doubt showed my hand and unwisely betrayed how irritated I was by her behavior, I demanded that she remove her feet. So she said, "I'll put my foot on my arm." No, you will not. You will put your foot down. "I will put my foot on my other leg." No. You. Will. Not. So then she propped her feet up on the edge of her chair next to her booster seat. I told her one more time to get her foot down off of the chair. And, upon her refusal, I lost it. I took her dinner away from her and put her in the red chair for time out.

Several hours later, when I had a chance to grab dinner, I was sitting at the table reading and eating my salad. My heel was resting on the seat of my chair and my chin was on my knee. It's inappropriate, yes, but comfortable. I hear her in the other room chatting cheerily about anything and everything, and I hear the chatter approaching the kitchen: "Charlie, don't do that. Don't eat my animal crackers. [She had no animal crackers, just for the record.] I will take Madeline and Thomas outside to the garden. Inside the fence. I will take them outside. Oh, hi Mommy. [Dead stop. Wide eyes. Pointing at my foot.] Put that down. Get that off the chair."

I stand corrected.