quiet bears and saloon girls

Quiet bears were never a good thing. It was something you learned early with cubs, especially after they become mobile. Our day to day life was accompanied by a soundtrack of crashes, the patter of swift paws dashing from one room to the next, the scrape of a chair on the kitchen floor as it was maneuvered into position (usually to aid in making an unholy mess), and of course, that small voice of "uh-oh."

I found myself listening for it even when I was doing something in a different room. In the old house, I had the danger zones protected. The ironing board became a semi-permanent fixture in front of the dining room cupboard that housed our crystal stemware. After I began packing, I was able to erect a nice wall of boxes in front of it. For two entire days I relished a thoroughly satisfying feeling of thwarting that mischievous bear. Until she began climbing those damned stacked boxes. One morning I found her standing triumphantly on a pile of boxes level with the top of the fireplace mantel. When the scolding began, Little Bear furrowed her brow and frowned, thrust her hands on her hips and wagged a finger at me. She spoke in her secret bear language, but it didn't impede her spot-on imitation of me. Have you ever tried scolding yourself in the mirror? Let me assure you, it's quite disconcerting.

The new house in its current state provided an abundance of opportunity for a marauding Little Bear. I often found myself working in another part of the house from where she played, and I had to take frequent breaks to ensure that she was where I had left her. Needless to say, my unenthusiastic unpacking slowed even more. Most days she waited a few moments before slipping away as soon as possible to explore somewhere else, far away from the exasperated gaze of her mother. A woman on the edge, let me tell you.

Her favorite place (at least for now) was our bed. The dresser and its mirror faced the foot of our bed, so Little Bear was able to leap around like a lunatic WHILE watching herself in the mirror. It was an irresistible combination. And I let her do it. As I've explained to my mother, it's the lesser of the evils. Do I need to mention climbing the mantel again?

And now I must take this moment to thank my brother (again) for teaching Little Bear how door knobs worked. Thanks, Beaze. No really, thank you. (I know I could get those child-proof plastic globes to go over the knobs, but have you ever tried going about your daily business with those things? I once took LB to a play date at a house that had those suckers on every door. Stupidly I stuck my purse in the master bedroom to get it out of the way, and I couldn't get back in. Their cat watched me as I wrestled with the thing for twenty minutes until I finally gave up and asked the hostess to open the door. The cat clearly thought I was a moron but lesson learned. I am NOT smarter than a child-proof doorknob.)

For awhile the bed jumping was fine. She'd jump and shriek as I tried to unpack in close vicinity to keep an eye on the shenanigans. Then I discovered that she had stashed something under the covers. I found a pen, an old baby rattle, and a dog bone. This game was taking a bad turn, so I ushered her into the hall and explained that she couldn't play in our room anymore. I closed the door firmly and herded her downstairs.

I started lunch while Little Bear played in the family room. For awhile I heard her singing a rowdy song as she strung her wooden beads, but then it got quiet. Too quiet. When I listened a few minutes later, I heard nothing at all from the other room. I checked the meal to make certain nothing would burst into flames while I investigated when the dog came trotting in to whine at me. Mudslide was a great baby monitor. When Little Bear cried, he howled. And when she did something bad, he never hesitated to rat her out. He was like a dog narc. When he came into the kitchen with big, round eyes and a high-pitched nasal whine, I knew we had strayed into bad bear territory.

I found her upstairs on our bed minutes after she had discovered my collection of perfume vials. Since I don't wear perfume a lot, The Husband purchased a collection of perfume samples for me to try. And since I hadn't finished organizing our bedroom, the perfume collection and its box were sitting in my closet. It wasn't conspicuous but that mattered little to a bear. Little Bears can find anything, especially if it ensures making a mess.

There she was, bouncing into the air with the glass perfume vials clutched tightly in her paws. The smell was overwhelming, and I actually liked those perfumes at one time. It was one of those moments that I will forever replay in slow-motion, the "nooooooooo" leaving my mouth in one very long, very anguished syllable. Little Bear saw me coming and threw the evidence down, like it was suddenly a handful of pit vipers, and I watched in horror as that perfume spilled directly on to my pillow. Little Bear dove under the covers while I worried about ever being able to breath sweet, clean air again.

Now when I go to sleep at night, I have this reoccurring mental image of retiring to the bedroom of a saloon girl. In the old westerns, saloon girls wore low-cut dresses with frothy skirts and draped their rooms in red scarfs (for ambiance, you know). At this rate, we'll be sleeping for the next sixty years in the boudoir of a Lady of the Night. Unless I can convince The Husband to include a new mattress in the budget. Or gas masks.

Comments

[The Muse of The Day]

I say you try the gas masks. If it turns the husband off it might just get you the extra sleep time your body needs when you have gone through a move with children.
Carolina

[Amy O]

Airing IS helping, believe it or not. At least the insides of my nose are no longer burning.

[PartyMom]

Sounds like you need to designate a playroom stat. Put the horrible handle covers on just the one doorknob and fill the room with nothing but LB-safe toys. Seriously, our playroom is wonderful...it helps so much when you need to get things done!

[margo]

oh dear. (I'm trying to be sympathetic, but you're cracking me up too - the saloon!!! too funny)

Does airing help?

[www.google.com/accounts/o8/id?id=AItOawmi-8ETIFOxCUAI2B2MmD0zC4InEyhppMY]

When my siblings and I were one, three, and five, our mother went to the clothesline outdoors, leaving us in. We got into her dressing table drawer and sampled the perfume her brother-in-law brought her from France during WW II. We got into big trouble when she came in to a reeking house. We could not figure out how she knew we'd been into the perfume since we'd put it away so carefully.

[Amy O]

Lipstick and NAIL POLISH!?!?!? Oh Debi...your poor parents. I just hope that it was a ton of fun while it lasted.

[Debi]

Oh no!!! This sounds an awful lot like something my sister did when we were growing up but that involved lipstick and nail polish! Eeep...hope the smell goes away soon. I loved the image of the slow mo...nooooooooo escaping from your lips!! Nothing like breaking in a new place eh?

[Amy O]

Thank you, Trina!

[trina]

Love it.