Monday, May 11, 2009

It is a good thing that little kids are cute.

Particularly my little kids. Because if they weren’t, I would have definitely off-loaded them to gypsies somewhere for a modest sum.

Primo is going through an unpleasant phase of life, which you will know if you read my post about the f@#king fours. Things are so bad with him at present that I may well send a plea to Supernanny. Although, as David observed, “If the Supernanny met our kids, she’d retire. She can’t handle this shit.”

When the kids are really awful, I like to deceive myself into thinking that they are just this way with me and David, and that they are very well-behaved when not in our care.

The bubble of my self-deception was punctured last week when my cousin, Alanna, who baby-sits the kids pretty regularly, said this:

“Your kids are bad, Nicole, like bratty, wild kid characters in Disney movies which are meant to be cautionary tales. Seriously.”

Oh, how I love hearing such confidence-boosting praise for my mothering!

Alanna gave me this feedback after she, along with my grandmother, watched the kids at night. David and I had a date with destiny at the Brooklyn Blogfest, where a bloggin’ good time was had, including blog dogs with mustard. But the point here is not what how much I can sound like Diablo Cody or what an impressive power couple David and I are, but that my children are disabled when it comes to going to sleep. Putting them to bed is like receiving electroshock therapy, and that is why we never ever force babysitters to endure it. But on this particular occasion, there was no avoiding it, and, we figured, there was not one but two capable caregivers on the job.

As far as I can tell, Primo just gave his usual bedtime performance which includes acting as though he just did a mammoth amount of speed as soon as the last page of the bedtime book has been read. He then does pike jumps and cannonballs off the bed, races around the apartment, hides in my closet, throws my clothes and shoes wildly to and fro, and scream with evil joy. This, of course, gets Seconda all pumped up, and soon both of them are wrestling on the floor, knocking shit over, banging their heads on furniture, wailing and yelling “I AM NOT GOING TO GO TO SLEEP -- EVER!”

My cousin and grandmother were horrified.

When I asked Primo the next morning about how bedtime went, he very calmly offered this explanation:

“I had to have a fit because Alanna told me to lie down but she didn’t say please, and the consequence of that is, you don’t get what you want.”

Like I said, it’s a good thing these kids are cute.