Beam me up, Scottie....

The other day I was putting some snapshots into the 'media storage boxes' that I resorted to using a few years back (when I finally admitted to myself that I was never going to get all my pictures neatly lined up and labeled in cute photo albums - who the hell has time for that?). Anyway, I came across a picture that took me back to the days when I had a pair of four-year-olds and a two-year-old who was a handful by himself (can anyone say "crazy lady"?). And then I remembered a specific day that I really felt should be immortalized on the internet for all to read, and from which all mothers could learn. *Giggle* Ahem...

My sister-in-law says that there moments in every mother's life when she is confronted by a situation that makes her wish that she were somewhere - anywhere! - else, preferably not on this same planet. She also wishes fervently that some other person, preferably her husband, were responsible for dealing with the situation. Those are the moments when, upon walking into a room and looking around, the mother thinks to herself, "Beam me up, Scottie!"

Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of sharing their home with a willful two year old is aware of the inherent potential for disaster, and have at one time or another thought to themselves something akin to "Beam me up, Scottie!" For those of you who don't have your own toddler, you should borrow one from a close friend for a few days because words cannot even begin to prepare you. Have you ever had a bassett hound as a pet? They are difficult to train, willful, forgetful, and retaliatory in nature; actually, they're a lot like toddlers. In fact, I think that all high school graduates should receive a bassett hound pup with their diploma. If they manage to raise the pup without losing his/her mind, then they are issued a license to have children. If not...well, no license for you, Bub.

But I digress. Sometimes it seems like you couldn't keep a busy toddler from getting into things even if you tied him up, which - for the record - is illegal. We were having one of those days. C. (who was oh so very TWO at the time) had already dumped a brand new box of cereal in the middle of the living room floor. I was completely unaware that he had learned to open the pantry door. About the time that I got that mess all cleaned up, I realized that his older brother had neglected to close the bathroom door all the way. This resulted in an unfortunate incident involving a running water faucet, some toothpaste, some toilet paper, a cup, and the potty. Not a pretty sight. I was beginning to feel a trifle frazzled, so when my mother-in-law phoned, I was glad to sit down on the couch and talk to her for a minute. And I do mean, one minute.

I had hardly sat down when my daughter (who had just turned four) came running into the living room, yelling something at me that I couldn't quite understand. Those of you who have preschoolers know that children this age have no sense of personal boundaries. When our children are babies, every time they whimper or wiggle most of us drop what we're doing and redirect our attention to them. This leads them to grow up with the notion that they are the center of the universe: little gods with tunnel vision whose needs eclipse those of the lesser mortals around them. I had been trying, pretty much in vain, to teach them to say, "Excuse me, please," and wait patiently until I could give them my full attention. I had to give them credit, they were trying. But so far my attempts had resulted in them standing next to me and saying, "Excuse me, please," over and over and over, getting progressively louder and louder until I couldn't focus on what it is I was trying to do or who it was that I was trying to talk to. I must admit, I found this very annoying. Finally, though, what she was trying to tell me wormed its way into my consciousness and my blood ran cold.

"C. pooped and he took his diaper off and now he's naked." She pronounced the last word in true southern fashion so it came out 'nekkid'. "Aaannnd," my little drama queen continued, "he made a mess in K.'s room." At that very moment, the instant before my so very helpful toddler rounded the corner with baby poop smeared from his hips to his ankles, proudly carrying his diaper which he gleefully bestowed upon his stupefied mother - all I could think was, "Beam me up, Scottie!"

And that, my dear friends, is why birth control pills were invented.