The Shenanigans of Littlest (And Mr. Handler Got A JOB)

Well, it’s been a wild couple of weeks. You know those snazzy (but hardly ever made) five-year-plans? It just so happens that our five-year-plan has come a little closer to being achieved. I do realise that by making that statement, I have pegged myself and Mr. Handler as those crazy people who make such plans. Regardless, our brilliantly gigantic leap towards trying to make that future possible… is none other than Mr. Handler’s first accounting job.

  • It works with my schedule.
  • It works with Mr. Handler’s school schedule.
  • It works with Biggest’s school schedule.
  • It works with Littlest’s daycare schedule.


Mr. Handler loves it.

For the first time in two years, we’ve been able to see far enough to be able to plan for staying in our hometown. We can settle! We can have a house! We can stay close to family! We can stay car-less! I am so stress free that I’ve felt a bit like I’m floating. It’s delightful.


In other news…

I was going to give you a sophisticated embedded link to a post I had previously written about this subject, but since I have spent over an hour looking without any luck… You’ll have to suffice with my shortened version below.

This is about… The WalkThe Walk is a term that refers to being hauled out of a situation (IE: restaurant, grocery store, Stuff Mart, the Beach, the Pool, etc.) while the child is screaming, shrieking, yelling, bawling, stomping, kicking, hitting, and potentially biting. Once the child has left the situation behind, they continue to scream, shriek, yell, bawl, stomp, kick, hit, and potentially bite for a good chunk of the walk home. Ear splitting sounds are punctuated by the overly calm instruction of the parent doing the hauling, with such phrases as “I warned you”, and “You made the choice not to listen” being uttered. To the ordinary observer, they are the diligent response of a concerned parent trying to teach a lesson, but to the parent, they are a vain attempt at dignity while trying not to cringe at passersby. Trust me when I say that what is going through that parent’s head is nothing to do with choices and warnings. It has everything to do with trying to maintain some dignity while alleviating the public’s general concern that you have done something to harm your offspring. Heaven forbid they look like the parent who’s collecting your gear and other potential children back at the situation instead, otherwise they may just think you’re trying to kidnap the child. Any and all phrases uttered at small tantruming humans are entirely for the benefit of the adults walking by. At some point, understanding will dawn, and they will stop behaving like wild animals long enough to walk quietly at your side and take the threatened nap without complaint upon reaching home.

So now you know what “The Walk” is… It happened to Biggest a couple of years ago, resulting in his removal from our favourite restaurant. At the time, it taught me a valuable lesson about judging other parents (much to my mortification, the screaming child in a restaurant thing finally happened to me). It also taught Biggest an important lesson about how far he can push Mom in public, and quite frankly, I’ve only done “The Walk” once. Until now. This time, it was Littlest’s turn. He was removed from the market downtown. At some point, understanding did dawn, and he did walk quietly the rest of the way home… and he quietly climbed in to bed, and just as quietly passed out for over three hours. Tantrums just don’t have a reasonable end, especially not when shopping. At least this time, I had the decency not to pretend that I was explaining the state of the universe to Littlest, and kept my dignified responses for those people that actually looked at me funny. The rest of the time, I just hauled butt. When Biggest had the original “The Walk”, he got quite an earful because I tried to explain the state of the universe as long as I perceived pedestrian earshot. I am a bad judge of earshot. Moving on….

I have to say that three year old logic really astounds me sometimes. We’ve been having the “I have to pee but nothing happens because I didn’t really have to pee” phase here. We’ve had plenty of discussions on the subject with Littlest, and we’ve also discussed not whining when we DO have to pee. But… children and their logic being what it is…. Littlest decided the other day that the logical thing to do, then, is to pee in a laundry bucket. Took his pants off and everything. But.. being a small child and having a short attention span… Littlest got bored. So, the logical thing to do then, was to transfer the pee from his laundry bucket to his pretend frying pan. I guess fried pee is better? Anyway, the transfer had a little side effect, as it didn’t pour as well as Littlest was hoping, so whatever didn’t end up in the frying pan… ended up on all his clean laundry. Oh yes, all this was happening in his closet. By the time I went in there to give him a hug before heading off to work… his whole room stank, and I had just enough time to collect up the three extra loads of laundry that my darling husband suddenly found himself with before I scampered out the door. (Thanks Mr. Handler, loooove you!)

And with that, my husband is in bed, and I am cold. In July. But that’s another story. Time to cuddle!

Mrs. Handler


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