By now we all know that my first born son tends to be a bit creative in his orneriness. This past week has been no exception as we adjust to being a family with three kids.
Last Friday was a beautiful day, so my mom and I decided to pack up the kids and head to the park. The boys were actually pretty good, had great attitudes while we were there and when we left, which is not something to be taken for granted these days. When we got home, however, both boys took a pill of crazy that left mom and I feeling a bit frazzled to say the least. It went a little something like this...
I had to feed Tyler, so I went to the nursery to feed him while mom headed outside to play with the boys. About 5 minutes into my feeding, I heard my mom talking sternly to both boys, and both boys crying. Not a good combination, as this most always means that something has gone awry and discipline (and wailing and gnashing of teeth) is about to ensue. Both boys were placed in time out. From the sound of it, that didn't go well, as my mom went from boy to boy trying to get them to sit still. Finally she decided to just address Connor and send Brayden to the playroom to "play quietly." She addressed Connor and headed to address Brayden. And Brayden was no where to be found.
Now, mind you, before we set further into this story, I should say that at this point only about 10 minutes has passed during the total event. This means that only about 2 minutes had passed between the time B was sent to "play quietly" and the time my mom went to look for him. Upon not finding Brayden in the playroom I heard my mom say "oh no." Any parent of a preschooler knows that the words "oh no" combined with "quiet playing" are key words for preschool disaster. Unfortunately this time was no different.
My mom happened upon Brayden in my bathroom. In my defense (and my moms), our room is almost always locked so that this sort of thing doesn't happen. I just happened to forget to lock it that morning, luckily (or unluckily, however you decide to look at it) for Brayden.
The next few moments were spent with me finishing up nursing Tyler, all the while hearing my mom get onto Brayden for something that sounded horrendous (I figured he had gotten in the vaseline, or perhaps the lotion). And then I was told of what had happened.
Brayden had gotten into the matches.
Not only had he gotten into the matches, he somehow figured out how to light said matches. And he lit not one, not two, but three matches.
There were singe marks on his shirt.
A few days out and we're all able to laugh about what transpired. But in the moment, we were all a bit (a) scared at how the scenario could have played out very differently, either for Brayden, for our home, or for both, and (b) frustrated because we knew that he knows better than to even step foot in our room without having an adult with him.
The best part of the story is that once things calmed down and we were able to explain to Brayden the dangers of the matches and playing with fire, he looked at me in all seriousness and said "but mom, God saved those guys in the fire" (referring to the Veggie Tales version of Shadrack, Meshack and Abednigo). Oh the mind of a four year old. See also: I can't allow my kid to watch anything anymore.
1 day ago