Trading Spaces

I just got done with my daily read at What Makes a Housewife Desperate? And I decided to give SuperMom a view from the other side of the grass.

First of all, I'm not saying I have a gargantuan house, or in any way saying nyah-nyah-nyah-nyaah-nyaaah. But what I have is another viewpoint to offer. Now I definitely have those days where I have little people under feet and even worse Peach who has grown to exactly crotch level has become a sniffer (another post, another day). But lately, I've been having the opposite problem.

The background: This is the first two-story house we've ever lived in. We have four bedrooms all upstairs, Melee's, John's, Peach and Ace together and the master. And I am a baby-proofer from WAY back. I have more plug covers per capita than most daycare centers. I have door locks and drawer locks and even a refrigerator lock. And the most wonderful thing in my arsenal is the doorknob cover. Well in the last month, Dear Sister learned how to deactivate the doorknob cover by putting her finger in the center hole and grabbing the doorknob with said finger. (She learned how to open these door's faster than Melee') Furthermore, Dear Sister has taught Ace how to enter my doorknob covered rooms. Starting with Melee' and his mini-drum set, then John with his five and dime lifestyle, who has more 25 cent prize machine jewelry than the Gabor sisters, and last but certainly not near the least is my bathroom. This morning I came downstairs in a stiff-necked fog, my eyes were still sticking together when the two of them came thundering down the stairs. Ace came over and I caught a whiff of something floral and as Peach rounded the corner and my eyes came into focus, I noticed she had used my matte finish makeup and smoothed it around haphazardly on her cheeks and chin. (MAN, it is TOO early in the morning for this.) We had a short discussion on age and natural beauty and it just rolled on from there.

You know when you're a mom, and there are these sixth sense things that you have. Like a spidey-tingle. When they're babies, it's being able to hear them breathe from four rooms away, then when they're crawling, it's being able to determine which are the thumps and cries of the frustrated or the bruised. Well right now, my super-hero power is my super-human internal timer/clock that dings every four minutes that the Wondertwins have been too quiet. Sometimes I have to stop, mid-sort and use my bionic ear to determine which of the forbidden rooms they have infiltrated and listen for regular sounds, or super secret sounds. Then I have to go bustin my hump up the stairs to shoo, threaten and redirect. As many times as I've had to do this is the last few months, you'd think I'd have buns of steel, or at least tin, but I don't. Instead I've got a twitchy eye and a sore knee and I'm thinking about getting one of those dog-spikes. You know the ones. The dog spikes that you put in the center of the yard, so your pit bull can get just to the edge of your property so you don't have to put up a fence. I could put it right in the center of the playroom, hook it to their belt loops and then .. oh, wait .. that won't work, Ace wears nothing but a diaper.

Well, I would like an Extreme home makeover. They could give me keyless remote entry for every door. All upper shelving and storage with step-stools that can only be accessed by my 7 letter password. Front and back doors and windows with alarms that go off when being opened by anyone under three foot tall. A souped up playroom with an inground trampoline and padded walls, A T.V. room padded floors and fold-in-the-floor seating for adult-use only. And an intercom system so I could stand next to the stove while cooking dinner and click the button and have my voice boom out of the heavens and say things like "UH-UH-UH, Mommy can seee you, put that down and come out of your brothers roo-oom."

*Sigh*
SuperMom, I here ya sister. But the grass over here, it's not so green.