Why My House is a Mess

Curtis had a rough day yesterday, and I have to say, I was feeling pretty frazzled myself.

First of all, I was trying to switch some laundry with Curtis’s “help.” He was being very helpful yesterday. He yanked the lint trap out of the dryer and was waving it all over the place. I finally grabbed it and cleaned the lint off of it before he could smear all the collected lint back onto my clean clothes. But then he was tapping it on things and trying to shove it back into its hole, and I just knew he was going to break it or smash a finger any minute.

I helped him position the lint trap back into its hole and I slowly guided it in so I could be careful not to squish one of his “helping” fingers. His thumbs were totally clear of it, and I thought his fingers were safe, too. As I pushed the last of the way, it felt a little softer than usual. You know that moment when you realize that something you’re trying to shut feels like it has more give than it should and at that exact moment your baby begins to scream? You don’t know that moment? Unfortunately, I know it all too well. Two of his fingers were caught on the other side of the lint trap and were being pinched as I tried to close it. He had a little pink line just across his fingernails. He was crying, and I was feeling terrible. Then I yanked out the lint trap and handed it to him and everything was all better.

When I finally was ready to shut the dryer, I hurried to shove the lint trap in before Curtis could even get to it where he would possibly be injured again. In my hurry to get it done, I smashed my own middle finger in the lint trap. Smooth move.

Then I went back to trying to unload the dishwasher. Lately I’ve been fairly tolerant of Curtis “helping” unload the dishwasher because otherwise, it will NEVER get done. So I accept the losses of spatulas that he wants to wander the house with in exchange for being able to put the rest of the stuff away. I grab quickly at fragile items he pulls out and tell him “thank you” ever so kindly. But yesterday, he had pulled out a spatula and jammed it into the bottom of the dishwasher so I couldn’t shut it if I wanted to, and then he proceeded to grab and plop on the floor one of my favorite pottery bowls (thank goodness Grandpa makes them sturdy!). I was at the end of my patience with Curtis being involved with the dishes, but I still had some left to unload.

I tried the old trick of opening the dishwasher, grabbing a few dishes and quickly shutting it before he got to it. Yes, I know this is also a finger risk—he can get them in there so fast sometimes! I was watching out for fingers and making sure I only slammed it shut when he was a safe distance away. One time, I saw him coming and shut it just before I reached up to put away some cups. He noticed that I hadn’t completely latched the dishwasher, and saw his opportunity. He pulled on the handle, but I was standing right there in front of it, so I just pushed it with my hip a little to keep him from opening it. But something wasn’t right. I looked down to find that he was pulling on the handle with one hand while the other hand had grabbed the edge of the door, and—you guessed it—I was smashing fingers again. Boy, did I feel like the worst mother ever! He had a line across the back of one of his fingers where it had been pinched. I got out some ice that time and tried to hold it to his finger until he insisted on putting it in his mouth, and I had to insist that I take it away to keep him from choking on it.

At that point, I begged Phaedra to just play with her brother for a few minutes and keep him amused enough that he wouldn’t be interested in the dishwasher. They played in the living room with one of his toys while I was finally able to work alone for a few minutes. But then I heard some commotion, and Curtis started to cry that real serious pain cry. I rushed into the living room and found Curtis face-down on the floor with our kid-size rocking chair on top of him. Of course, I freaked out at Phaedra, and of course, she started to cry. Then I had the both of them to comfort.

As far as I can tell, Curtis decided to stand on the rocking chair (he does that, the little daredevil), and Phaedra decided to help him get down. The result was a major bonk on Curtis’s head. I’m not sure if it came from the chair or the brick hearth or the coffee table (it was quite the trifecta of danger). I assured Phaedra that I wasn’t mad at her; I was only scared for Curtis. And I told her that I was glad she was trying to keep him safe, but next time, I need her to come tell me so I can help him get down.

Here’s what he looked like right after, when I was trying to ice it.

And then I abandoned emptying the dishwasher, and we went to pick up Eleanor from school.

I also texted Grant and told him I don’t know how much more of this boy my nerves can take!