I used to post occasional blog entries on MySpace. (Remember MySpace?) This one is from May of 2010, and totally fits the theme of the blog.
So I'm trying to get some housework done while dinner's cooking, and my youngest son is thwarting me every step of the way. He's just shy of five years old and has autism. That should say it all right there.
I put dinner in the oven and then start taking care of dishes in the drainer. I'd washed the silverware tray, so I put that in the drawer first. I then proceed to turn my back on that drawer long enough to put some plates away. While my back is turned, Braeden removes the clean, empty tray and tosses it into the sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes. I fish out the tray, rinse it off, and set it back on top of the dish rack so I can dry it (again). I hear my bedroom door close, so I abandon what I'm doing and head down the hall. Braeden has attempted to sneak outside via the sliding glass doors in my bedroom. I retrieve my child, return him to the living room, and continue taking care of clean dishes.
A few minutes later, on the kitchen counter, I find a jewelry box belonging to me that was in my bedroom on my dresser ten minutes ago. The jewelry is still (thankfully) there, but the empty space in the box has been filled with cat food. I dump the box out, put the jewelry back in it, put the cat food back into the cats' dish, and take the jewelry box back to my bedroom. In that span of time, Braeden proceeds to open the sliding glass door in the dining room and start tossing his toys out the door. I stop him from doing that, go outside, grab the toys, and bring them back in. I open the dryer to get the next load of laundry together, and he turns off the coffeepot. I turn the coffeepot back on, start another load of laundry drying, start the water in the washer, and run the load of clean and dry laundry back to my bedroom. When I get to my bedroom door, I discover he has somehow locked it in the ten seconds I wasn't looking, so I have to set the clean laundry on the floor to pick the lock on my bedroom door. While I'm doing that, my son closes the washer lid and closes the door of the closet where the washer and dryer are, so when I come back with a load of dirty laundry I have to drop it to re-open the door and re-open the lid of the washer.
The timer goes off on the food, so I turn to get it out of the oven. In so doing, I notice that my coffeepot is once again turned off. I turn the coffeepot back on, get dinner out of the oven, and turn back towards the dining room. There stands Braeden, holding my mouse pad. I remove it from his grubby little hands, put it back where it goes, and return to the kitchen. Somehow I manage to slam the back of my shoulder into the edge of the entryway on my way past, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I hear a shout from the living room of "NO, BRAEDEN!" and go running back. My middle son is playing on the computer, and Braeden is reaching across him and putting his hands on the screen, blocking Dustin's view of the game he's trying to play.
On TV, this would be hilarious. In real life, it’s incredibly frustrating, especially in combination with the crappy way this week has been going so far. But imagining a camera crew attempting to keep up with Braeden helps me to see the humor in the situation.
I won't even bother telling you the things he got into while I was typing this up... and the struggle for control of my mousepad that occurred while I was sitting RIGHT HERE…