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Justice and The Wee Ones
By Lisa Barker.
Even at 18 months, my son knows when a horrible injustice has occurred. He, like all the rest of the children, comes running to me with this look of utter self-righteousness. You know the look—it’s the "How could she/he????" look. Horror of horrors and sorrow of sorrows! Only mom can remedy the situation.
At least that’s what they think.
The only justice there is when you have toddlers is injustice because all mom wants is a little peace and quiet.
"Give the ball back to Aiden," I say to my seven-year-old son.
"But, Mom, it’s MY ball."
The 18 month old, still looking stricken and accusing, begins to dance in place while he cries for retribution.
"I don’t care WHOSE ball it is. Give it to him!"
The seven-year-old complies and goes sulking to his room. The 18 month old, completely satisfied, now sings praises to the ball and dances with it.
I sigh. What am I SUPPOSED to do? He has things of mine, too, you know.
It started way back when his older twin sisters were the age he is now. I lost several of the stuffed animals I’d saved from my childhood or that were given to me by my husband. At first I tried to get them back, but gave up because I was sure I’d go to hell for it—something about stealing from a baby—and two, after all the slobber from the toddlers they no longer looked like the fluffy little animals they used to be.
Slobber happens to be the way toddlers mark their territory. That’s why anything in the house below an adult’s waistline is considered the baby zone. The table legs, the coffee table, the walls, the dog, all the toys, magazines and books are slimed because they are in the baby zone, a.k.a. the slobber zone.
It’s so gross that when my twins were three they asked if I would take their baby brother back to the hospital where I’d gotten him. He was worse than a Saint Bernard. But at least he didn’t shed. And for entertainment he could burp on command.
So now the little caboose in our family is well on his way to expanding his vocabulary. This means that besides the Scream of Injustice he can tweak the rest of mom’s nerves with cries of "Mine, mine, mine!" and "No, no, no!"
Once he starts one of his little mantras, I’ve just GOT to get up and go find out which child is trying to repossess his or her own toy.
"Just give it to him!"
Older child cries...youngest child gives a sly sideways glance around the room coveting even more possessions.
Yep. He’s got us all wrapped around his little finger all right. And he knows it. The only one he can’t fool is dad, but I’m catching on.
He has this carefully practiced cry—perfected by trying it on his older sisters who cave in to his every demand because, yes, he’s still cute as a button. Well, at the table, when he’s told to behave, he’ll break into crocodile tears. How do we know? He’s got that sly sideways glance thing going, to see if we’re falling for it.
"Faker!" We say and get a big rodent grin from him (he’s got all the teeth that a hamster has).
Well, at least he’s being fair about it, or else I’d have to break out with the cry of injustice myself.
Copyright © Lisa Barker. Lisa Barker writes from home amid the chaos and confusion of a busy household. Mom to five kiddos and nine cats, she finds ample material to keep the smiles and laughs coming. Laugh out loud at JellyMom.com! Reprinted with permission.
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