Walking through my house in the dark is a little like playing Minesweeper. You know, that computer game with hidden landmines that you mindlessly click on spaces, hoping to not land on one of the ten mines in a 100 square space? Or you decide to up the ante and you go to the 1,000 square space and 100 land mines. Theoretically, that is the same odds, but you feel better knowing you have so many non-threatening spaces.
Turn off the lights and walk through my living room and your odds are worse. The chances of stepping on something: stinking good. You just hope it’s something less than lethal. A Lego: Done. Game over. Too bad, so sad. Note: Where there is one, there are bound to be more. Good luck.
My favorite is the sit and spin. You kick it and you’ll escape with your life. The baby will be awake and your night may be over, but you didn’t die or have a life-threatening injury. Step on it, the thing spins and you might not fare so well. The kids like to leave that one at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. It’s a great place for accidental deaths. The good news: the clatter will wake the house and they’ll all find you rather quickly. Not that you’ll be around to know or care.
Other options are Tonka trucks, baskets piled with clean laundry that no one wanted to fold, or marbles. Oh yes, the marbles are a fun option. Thankfully (according to me, not my husband who has to fix such things) the floor slants at such an angle that the marbles are nearly certain to be against the wall under the television cabinet, out of walking spaces. We don’t usually have to search for them. They like that (low) spot.
Doll strollers are my absolute worst. They clatter to wake the sleeping, they hook on your leg, they trip you up and then tangle you all at the same time. During the day, they catch on my key lanyard if it’s in my pocket and come along for a ride. I just love that. They have been thrown out of the way more times than I can count. I
wished thought I might have broken them once or a dozen times. Still, they live on and get played with on a daily basis by Charlotte, and now Ellie. Ellie’s abandoned her little push-me-and-learn-to-walk toy for the doll stroller. She pushes that thing around, tips over and wails, and yet refuses the sturdier push toy. She needs to learn to wear her babies, I’m thinking.
My dear husband complains little – unless a dirty diaper gets left on the floor. Something about the possibility of hitting poop with his bare foot in the night makes him cringe. I don’t know why.
Don’t even ask about bedrooms. They can go from spotless to trashed in mere moments. Getting a crying baby in the night is a risk to one’s self. I’ve fought this battle. I’ve instituted the clean-bedroom-before-breakfast rule. We also have a clean-bedroom-before-supper rule and a clean-your-bedroom-after-getting-pj’s-on rule. I’m still losing. I’ve decided it would be easier to teach Ellie to sleep through the night than to get the bedroom clean for midnight feedings.
I’m losing that battle too.