Toddlers Without Tiaras

… tales of my threenager

… May I have the envelope please

The results are in!

I will begin by thanking those who participated in the survey, and those who follow and loyally read the blog. It is refreshing and encouraging to know I am not alone, and that I will survey the toddler years.

I would like to thank the readers for nominating their own favourite stories. While not included in the survey, honorable mentions are extended to:

And now the results:

5th place: I hate naps!
3rd place (tie): Just Happened … Maybe and 8 Signs your Newborn needs to learn Self-Defense Skills
2nd place: The Extremely Unpopular Potty Training Method

And the winner, with 64.7% of the votes is:

… And Then The Social Worker Pulled Up

Reprinted for your amusement:

Such a beautiful day.  I've got this under control.

Such a beautiful day. I’ve got this under control.

Picture this. It is a gorgeous, sunny, Tuesday evening, right around dinner time. My partner in crime is in Ottawa for business. As such, the responsibility to take out the garbage falls to me. My youngest is in the swing. My oldest is playing with her dolls.

I tell my 3-year old to keep the doors closed because we don’t want the dogs getting out.  Normally,  she follows this instruction. Unfortunately for me, on this particular evening, she decides she really wants ‘to help me!’  Thus, just as I am putting out the second bag, I hear the door open.

Before I could respond, my daughter starts to walk down the driveway and the white fluff ball, Scout the dog (aka Regret the dog) bolts out of the garage and across the street.

This is not the first time Scout has done this.  He is a puppy.  We are still in training.  Usually my soccer skills, gained from playing defense, allow me to corner him before he gets off the property. Not this time.  I wasn’t in position. Time for Plan B. I run in to the house, grab a leash and a treat, run back outside, and attempt to lure him back in exchange for a walk.

Scout - aka Regret the Dog

Scout – aka Regret the Dog

Scout is now running around my neighbours lawn.  My neighbour bends over and pets him.  As a repayment for his kindness, my dog lifts his leg and pees on his flowers, in front of him.  Fantastic!  (Although this is an improvement from last fall when I am positive my dog tried to pee on him).

Happy Kid enjoying the sunshine! #Embarrassing

Happy Kid enjoying the sunshine!
#Embarrassing

Adding to the chaos! #EvenMoreEmbarrassing!

Adding to the chaos!
#EvenMoreEmbarrassing!

I’m feeling anxious to get both Scout and my daughter back in to the house.  The Threenager is giggling, while she watches the entertainment from our lawn.  Her hair in pigtails.  Her pink cros on the wrong feet.  She is happy as can be.

and then the Social Worker pulls up and stops her car in front of my house!  I can see she is looking at my daughter, questioning the situation.  Then she looks over and sees me frantically trying to catch the dog.  She bursts out laughing.  Full disclosure … the Social Worker is my friend.  I frequently tell her all of my stories are better because I get to say  and then the Social Worker came over. I’m not sure about you, but, while I have great respect for the profession, Social Workers scare me a little bit.  While I know I am a good parent, I always fear that situations will unfold where my parental skills will be questioned. This instance was no different. It’s all about timing!

You see, the other important detail omitted until now is that, aside from the pigtails and the crocs, my Threenager was sporting her birthday suit.  That’s right!  She was walking down the sidewalk in all her glory.

Time to go shopping! #Priceless

Time to go shopping!
#Priceless

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, she runs back in to the garage – not to go in the house – but to grab her shopping cart.  With some negotiation, I was able to persuade her that we should go back in the house, quit opening the doors, and perhaps give clothes a chance!

 

Wed, July 1 2015 » Uncategorized

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