The Queen of No

No, we don't stand on chairs.
No, we don't eat Play-Doh.
No, we don't jump on the sofa.
No, we don't play with the light switch.
No, we don't put our hands in our milk.
No, we don't take things from your sister.
NO, YOU DO NOT PUSH YOUR SISTER DOWN.

It's all I say, all day long. No. Quit. Don't. Stop. It's exhuasting.

The other day, Amelia was screaming as I wrestled with her to get her to hold still long enough to change her diaper (why won't she just hold still?), and Virginia tried to grab a wipe. "No, Virginia, leave those alone." And now Virginia is also screaming because why can't she have a wipe?


"ONE WIPE! ONE WIPE! JUST ONE WIPE!"

Over and over again. Amelia is thrashing around on the floor, throwing a serious tantrum, because the only thing more unnacceptable than having a poopy diaper is having your poopy diaper changed. And now, the toddler is screaming.

I turned my head to look at Virginia. Her little face with those blue/green eyes tearing up because I wouldn't let her have one wipe. Is it really such an unreasonable request? The Mom Guilt washes over me.

"Ok, Virginia. Just these two." (Mom guilt.) And she stopped crying.

Why did I say no in the first place?

Because all those wipes are folded together in a neat stack by some stupid, unthinking, un-mom machine so that they fit nicely in the little plastic refill packages. Those folds overlap, so that when you grab one, you're not just grabbing one wipe, but the one that was on top of the accordion fold of wipes. What's the big deal? The big deal is, my toddler grabs the top-of-the-accordion-fold wipe and walks to the other side of the room, taking the whole stash of wipes across the floor with her. Ten feet of wet wipes across the living room floor. Now, I'm not only changing a poopy diaper, but I'm cleaning the living room and scolding my toddler. That is why I said no in the first place. Pro-active prevention.

But, WHY? Who cares if I have to pick up some wipes? It only takes a few seconds. Here's the really ugly truth.

By saying no, I have control. I have some sort of sliver of control over the total chaos of my life. I cannot control when they laugh or cry or when the destroy their books or toys or how they behave in public (no, you really can't control that, regardless of what non-parents may think). But I CAN impose limits and boudaries to rope in the chaos to a manageable level.

I said no to the wipe, which prevented her from grabbing the stack and making the trail across the floor, which prevented me from picking up the wipes and scolding my toddler, which would have led to tears ANYWAY, which would have made the baby cry EVEN LOUDER, which would have taken my blood pressure up fifty more notches, which would have made ME scream, which would have made me feel guilty, which would have made me put on Barney again to shut her up, which would have made me feel like a bad mother letting them watch so much tv, which would have led me to saying no to a second episode of Barney, which would have led to EVEN MORE CRYING, which would have.......get the point?

The moments of my life are stacked and folded together accordion-style, just like those stupid wipes,and saying no prevents the trail of wipes from making its way across the floor of my day.

Here's what she did with the wipes that I gave her.