Momedy

Today we ran out of bananas.

That’s right. Out. of. BANANAS. That’s one of the rare English phrases that translates directly to Toddler-ese, as “the world is ending.”

Full disclaimer — we didn’t actually run out of bananas. But our soon-to-be two year-old had one for every meal yesterday. And then again for breakfast this morning.

In an attempt to avoid a potassium overdose, I removed the bananas from her direct eye-line and told her they were all gone. (This phrase translates to “Life’s not worth living”)

I hid them here, in our liquor and craft cabinet. It’s the one place we go frequently enough (and not for Play-doh) that I knew I wouldn’t forget them there.

For close to three hours I listened to her whining for bananas. If this isn’t already an official form of torture, it needs to be added. It bounces off your eardrums in exactly the same way as a fire engine siren, and I’m pretty sure the guys in those get to wear headphones.

When lunch time passed and Evelyn was still banana-less, she reached a decibel I’m becoming more familiar with the closer we get to 2 and am not fond of.

She screamed at the table, screamed all the way upstairs, screamed as I duct-taped her diaper on (another story for another post), screamed as I read “Halloween Day” for the 275th time … you get the picture.

She was still screaming ten minutes later when I went to the basement to get more toilet paper. We’ve been out in our upstairs bathroom for about three days, and I’m running out of substitutes.

It was there in the basement that I made a fortuitous discovery, and thought “Alright kid, you want a banana that badly, here’s your flipping banana.”

I bought this costume when Eric and I first got married.  I kept hearing that a good way to keep the spark alive in your relationship is to put on a little something special for your husband as a surprise when he gets home from work, and thought, This is just the thing! 

Today I had to fashion it over a baseball hat, because I haven’t seen the inside of my shower in a few days except to clean it.

My plan was to tiptoe in and set up shop in Evelyn’s nursery chair, then wait for her to wake up. But I kept getting distracted by other responsibilities…

…and she woke up before I could get in there.

When I first walked in to get her, her little face was a perfect mix of confusion and euphoria. She could hardly contain her glee over the fact that her incessant demands for bananas had actually turned her Mom into one.

So there you go, finally a solution to giving your kid what they want, without actually giving into them.

Parenting win. Sanity fail. We’ll call it a wash.