Incarcerated with Toddler Delinquints

Being in jail ain't pretty. And being in jail with toddler delinquents ain't neat or tidy ... or calm ... or controlled. There was a time when my life was neat and tidy. I know I kept our small apartments orderly and clean. There was a time when life was calm and controlled. I remember going out for KFC on a Sunday afternoon, after church, and returning home to snuggle in bed and snooze the afternoon away. My life was my own to plan and execute as I saw fit.

Tonight as I drove off to the high school to pick up my ES from marching band practice, I noticed a young woman out for an after-dinner power walk. Unbeknownst to her, she oozed freedom from her pores and I felt a prickle of jealousy and longing. Granted, she could be incarcerated with children as well (don't know if hers are delinquents, however), but merely has the good fortune of momentary reprieves into the sunlight for solitary reflection and recreation.

I must be in lock-down. I'm feeling the bars and the weight of my sentence very heavily today (probably because school is out for the little ones and ES is done Thursday afternoon). I know they are just being children, but sometimes, it really feels like delinquency - and schemed delinquency, at that.

The past several days have been full of the usual. It seems my boys manage to break between one and three things each day. I have toyed with the idea of beginning a running log (with dates and offences and particulars), but honestly don't have the energy to keep up with the delinquency, let alone the documentation of delinquency.

Here are a few details from the past several days: YS, during my attempted video workout time, snuck into the bathroom and dispensed the remainder of our BFI powder all over the bathroom and his face and hair. MS, before I even had a chance to clean it up, went to the bathroom and decided to hold his hand directly beneath the faucet to watch the water spray out in all directions, thus soaking the counters, the open drawers below the counters, and all the BFI powder. Let me tell, that clean-up was a thrilling operation (the top drawers contained various items like toothbrushes, flossers, etc and the bottom drawers held towels - all of it, caked with a wet, pasty yuck). Thanks boys.

YS believes he is the head of the Lego Witness protection program. He keeps, surreptitiously, dropping small Lego pieces into the dehumidifier downstairs. This, in addition to his goal of dumping every container of toys we own if they are ever picked up for more than one half hour.

Tonight, the little boys were playing outside and throwing buckets up in the air (surprise, surprise - one of them cracked at the bottom - are you singing, "There's a Hole in my Bucket, Dear Liza"? I am.) As the time approached to take ES to marching band, I told MS to stay with YS at the sand table while I ran inside quickly to go to the bathroom. I returned, moments later, to hear hubby reaming them out. Apparently, MS brought YS into the garage, to the sink and proceeded to open the cabinet door and then kick out the drawer. The metal hinges (or sliding bars - whatever they are called) came off and the drawer was spilled out onto the floor.

Now, if I have little patience with their endless escapades and destructive sprees, my husband has no patience at all. He takes the utmost care of his things. His shoes are all in boxes. His shirts hang according to color and his constant motto is: "A place for everything and everything in its place." Honestly, I don't know how he manages to stay with the boys and I. Perfection is quite far from our radar. It drives hubby to insanity when the boys handle things with intentional roughness. He has sworn to not purchase another toy for MS and even threatened to return any toys which others might purchase for him.

Thus, it is not only the chaos level in this house which makes the walls cave in on me. It is also dealing with the frustration level of my hubby. We don't recall our ES giving us nearly this much difficulty. Then again, we were ten years younger. Still, there are days when it does seem like other children play with toys in the manner they were intended (sitting quietly, acting out little scenes), while ours harbor evil plots (throwing action figures across the room to see if they can dismember or amputate them).

Boy, does freedom seem sweet. Hopefully, I will be able to experience a prison leave this weekend. For my birthday, hubby has promised to take the two little boys over to my in-laws for a brief visit Saturday afternoon through Sunday evening. The walls of my cell seem pretty solid. I'm hedging bets that my father-in-law will not feel up to a visit from my little boys (heck, I don't even feel up to a brief spell with my little boys, and I'm not in constant pain).

If I do manage a prison break, I'm hoping I remember to take a nice after-dinner power walk and allow the freedom to ooze out of my pores. More than likely, I'll be knee-deep in clothes and junk (since my intended birthday gift to hubby is a few photos of the loads of junk I got rid of in their absence - believe me that is the only birthday gift he wants). Wish I had a friend nearby who could come over to help me purge the junk and then sit back with popcorn and a movie.

At least, I know I didn't get a life sentence. Freedom is dancing in the railway stations when I peer through binoculars into my future. Please, Lord, help hubby and I to get there intact.

And if you are living large, without toddlers or children, take a moment to breathe in the air around you and realize the freedoms you may take for granted.