mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 4th 1:00 P.M. till 7:00 P.M.

Let's see where was I? Ah yes, just after the lunch hour, lets say somewhere around 1:00 P.M,. maybe 2:00. I am somberly recovering from the load of emotional baggage Stew had just dumped on me. I'm watching my p's and q's, doing everything I can to not make eye contact with him again for fear of what he might divulge next. I do a lot of traveling back and forth between Judy and Jiri's yard (they are out of town) and mine. I have varying excuses. Their dog needs feeding, watering, walking, etc. I need to check on their plants. I need silence. The kid has yet to go more than fifteen minutes without a temper tantrum. I have now seen him hit mom roughly five times and dad at least twice. When I recoil in horror Stew informs me that "this is just what two year old boys do." He keeps stressing gender because he knows I have been exposed to my nieces recently and that no such violence has gone on.

Around 3:00, I begin to think that Damian must need a nap. Two year olds nap, don't they? They must need sleep. Lord knows I do. I am relieved when Marge informs us that it is, in fact, nap time but puzzled when she disappears sans her little angel. Apparently, it is only Marge's nap time. Damian is free to roam while mom gets some shut eye. Yes, Stew is about but I have already established what a great parent he is. I shake my head in disbelief. Now, Damian has fewer communication skills than other two year olds I've met. He expresses himself almost entirely in physical ways. So it's a wonder that I was surprised when he began kicking the television. This is his ever adorable way of expressing a desire to watch the cartoon network and in true "I could care less" fashion, Stew just turns the set on. I scratch my head in disbelief and head for the door.

I hang with Lou the dog for a bit, unwinding with each ear scratch and trying to gear up for the next round. I finally bring Lou back to our place to feed him. Perhaps the clock has struck 4:00? I can't recall. Lou is better with people than Desmond. Desmond has been hiding in his crate since ten minutes after Damian's arrival when his tail was first pulled and his collar yanked. Remarkably, Lou has been putting up with the abuse fairly well. Every once in awhile I remind Stew to have the kid go easy on the dog. Lou is still a puppy and capable of unpredictable behavior. Stew responds that Damian knows how to play with dogs and I should not worry. I guess you can see what's coming. One tail yank too many and Lou takes a bite out of the kid. He just misses Damians eye ball. Am I horrible person to admit I cheered on the inside? Of course, Damian began to screech again and Marge woke up long enough to ask if we had Neosporin (we didn't). The wound was small though and Marge sleepy so the kid was dusted off, Lou was sent to the yard, and Marge's nap was resumed.

At about 5:00, Pete and decided to start dinner. The sooner we ate, the sooner the day would end. We removed the salmon, heated up the barbecue, and chopped vegetables while Stew and Damian watched cartoons. There were periodic screams and I never once saw that kid more than six inches from the screen but at least Marge was getting her rest. And then the banging began, a repetitive "smack, smack, smack" on the floor. Pete, who had been cleaning some of Damian's breakfast off the wall with Windex, headed off to explore. The kid was smashing the remote on the floor. The batteries were out. In another moment the thing would have been in pieces. Pete placed down his cleaning supplies and wrestled the remote free from Damian's hands. Damian wailed in anger then grabbed the Windex and sprayed it directly in his eyes. Score one for the good guys! Oh wait, now we have to call poison control.

There is a small debate between Marge and I about the number for poison control. You see, I have no idea what the number is nor do I hang it on my fridge. Marge thinks this is just insane, what kind of person am I, she wonders aloud? For the record, I am the kind of person who doesn't spray Windex in my eyes, thank you very much. At last the number is found and called. Instructions are given. Run water in Damian's eyes for ten minutes. But by that time, the spawn of the Devil is on to bigger and better things. Stew suggests we leave well enough alone but Marge, in a most pissed off manner, decides to proceed with the operation alone. Damian shrieks through the whole event, not that I can blame him, and Stew begins some diatribe about how dumb Marge is. I start drinking - hard.

When Marge emerges from the bathroom there's rage in her eyes. Luckily, that rage is directed at Stew. Pete and I take this as our cue to get away. We leave Marge and Stew to duke it out and attend to the barbecue. I can't say what happened on the inside in our absence. I can tell you Pete and I stood outside stunned at the amount of bad things that had happened in a few hours time. Nary a word was shared between us, just distant stares and heavy sighs. Stew joined us roughly fifteen minutes later with a coy smile on his face. Marge is napping again.

"Um guys, I think Damian got into your room and he was touching some of your things."

"What," Pete and I exclaimed in unison. "Is anything broken? How did he get in there?"

I don't wait for an answer. I head to my room where one of the alebrijes we purchased in San Martin Tilcajete lies in multiple pieces. Tears spring to my eyes. One of the big discussions we had prior to the Faces arrival could aptly be entitled "We Do Not Live In A Child Proof Home." Perhaps you remember it from such diaryland entries as More Venting and Crapity Crap Crap Crap (yes, this is my Troy McClure imitation). We could not have reiterated this point any more than we did. The phrase "you will need to watch him closely" was a mantra repeated hourly. And yet Damian was left to his own devices and irreplaceable artifacts were destroyed. I head back to Pete and the look on my face says it all.

"It's broken," he half asks, half states. I nod. "Ferchrissakes Stew, go watch your kid." Pete marches inside and I go to Judy and Jiri's and sit in the dark on their couch. I know this is only a material object, I really do, but each alebrije we purchased was painted by a different artist. Each one has a special memory. I sob from anger, exhaustion, and frustration. Once I can compose myself enough to not explode on the spot, I head home. Pete stands alone in the kitchen.

"I told Marge that she is not to nap anymore," he says. "I told her we're all tired but since her kid needs to be watched constantly she needs to be awake like the rest of us."

"Where is she then," I ask.

"Napping," he sighs. "At least Stew and Damian are in there with her." Sadly, we only get another minute of silence before Stew appears.

"Hey guys," Stew says. "I am awfully sorry about that thing."

Pete's face is red. He's more angry than I have ever seen him. "That thing! That thing! You mean the alebrije we purchased outside of Oaxaca? That's alebrije A-L-E-B-R-I-J-E - alebrije. Is that the 'thing' to which you refer Stew?"

And so it is that Stew begins to cry. "You see your sister and I going through a real rough time in our marriage and sometimes we have to have very heated debates and at times like that well......maybe we have a hard time keeping an eye on Damian and......"

"Save it," Pete tells him. "Why would you bring that into my house? Why bring your failing marriage here to my happy home?" I fear Pete's going to kick the guys ass. Pete's not normally a violent guy. Actually, I've never seen him hit anyone but at that moment I thought he'd knock this guy out given the chance. I decided to defuse the situation. I asked Stew to compose himself and to tour the house with me and point out anything that Damian might possibly be interested in. I put all that stuff away. I put dinner on the table. The four adults sat in silence when Damian screamed and threw stuff. If more than six words were exchanged throughout the course of the evening, I'd be surprised.

On the next episode, we go to a restaurant. The fun never ends my friends (actually I hope to wrap this up soon and move on).

8:40 p.m. - 2003-07-09

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next

latest entry

about me

archives

notes

DiaryLand

contact

random entry

other diaries:

toastcrumbs
caterwaul
ethelalcohol
fancylady
itzie
theshivers
in-my-life
polly-esther
myra-lee
the29th
monkeybar
reddirtgirl
tornadoali
oh-sweet-pea
asteroidbelt
amishboy
drgeek
heidiann
emeraldtiger
mnvnjnsn
kayemess
tater-fay
snideblonde
arajane
mariamania
dutch-girl
kungfukitten
everoboto
demoderby
squeeky
shadowdress
thefictions
yelayna
onewetleg
allmadhere
discothekid
dykewife