You would think any mother would be happy with a little bit of silence.
No. I am not. I get scared when I haven’t heard something crash or a kid cry for longer than about 30 seconds. It is how I calculate my attack on my kids.
Loud shatter with a little crying and I run.
Mediocre crash sound and I will dry my hands and walk briskly over to the general direction of the noise.
A crash and an “Ut Oh” and I grab my phone to call 911 if necessary.
I am doing my dishes a few minutes ago. Over the running water I hear “Oh chit”. This is Holdyn new way of saying “OOPS. I did something wrong”. Not the best way of saying something, but at least I know.
I take my time drying my hands because I hear no other tell tale signs that something detrimental has happened. No shatter sound, no high pitched scream from little man, no dog running away.
What could possibly be up in there. It is too quiet.
I sneak around the corner. I poke my head in and Holdyn is trying to pull Ducky up by his shirt collar. D is going with it. Holdyn then props him up against the couch and pats him on the back just as the little one falls flat on his face and starts giggling. I still haven’t figured out what the “Oh Chit” was about, but no damage, so we are all good.
There is something seriously wrong with this picture. It takes a 6 year old 5 minutes to teach Camryn how to ride a bike with no training wheels (we tried FOREVER), and it takes a 2 freaking year old to teach my 9 month old how to stand up.
What am I doing wrong!?