Here are a few of my favorites from the time I wrote my humor column for "The Stars and Stripes, European Edition". For those of you, unfamiliar with it, "The Stars and Stripes" is the "local" newspaper, published for people stationed overseas where it is not possible to run down to the corner store and pick up a copy of the "New York Times".
All contents herein Copyright © 1984,1985,1997 by Kathleen Anspach Preddy. All rights reserved.
A word of advice to all expectant mothers: Toddlers do not know how to spell P-R-I-V-A-C-Y. And some children never learn what it means even after they can spell it. No doctor or parenting class will give you this information; I believe it's classified Top Secret.
Our older daughter wins spelling bees, writes poetry, and can define any word you care to throw at her. Except THAT word. I did, after long years of patient explanations, convince her that Mama does not need or desire an audience while in the bathtub. When I'm covered with soap, it is not a good idea to come and tell me the baby poured her apple juice into the fish tank. Especially if you have to open the bathroom door, interrupt my rendition of "The Impossible Dream", and perch on the edge of the tub in order to bring me the good news.
It is also not politic to lean one's head on one's arm along the edge of the tub and trail the fingers of the other hand in my bath water. I do not need help washing my back, and two big eyes staring at me while I'm washing my front will not win you an invitation to tea. I am more interested in getting clean, privately, than in what color the neighbor's boy painted our front door.
Reading was my downfall. Before my first child was born, I read everything I could get my hands on about raising children. I made my big mistake when I took as gospel the idea that parents should be open about nudity. Children should not be made to feel their bodies are shameful. My husband and I practiced not screaming and jumping for a towel when she wandered into the bathroom. We mastered the art of the casual snag of the towel and unhurried wrap-around. We practiced so well that we stopped being embarrassed. She was never embarrassed.
At about age four, they start asking questions. As you dress, you will be required to identify various parts of your anatomy for this child. My son just completed that stage. It is a little harder not to scream, yank down the bedroom curtain, and drape it quickly around your body during the interrogation. But we endure, although we aren't always sure we're going about it in the right way.
I explained to my son that he should knock on my door before joining me. His reply was "Why? I knew you were home." This, perhaps, might have been the best moment to explain that Mama would appreciate a little privacy while she's dressing. But then he'd want to know why, and I can't figure out how to answer that without blowing the whole project. I answer his questions.
Privacy, to my children, means only that it was a sad day for them, when the lady next-door was invited in to the bathroom where I performed the contortionate act of shaving my legs. It also means Mama would rather that Daddy's colleagues not be invited into the house when Mama is running around in her underwear, looking for her left shoe. Unfortunately, they haven't learned to take the word personally.
I haven't been alone in the bathroom since the '70s. And I dread school days. There is no one here then to watch the toddler while I try to sneak in alone. She comes with me. She watches me bathe. She floats Squeaky Duck in my bath water and taste-tests my soap. She helps me dress. There's no escaping it. Toddlers can barely pronounce words like "cookie" and "juice"----"privacy" is beyond them. And you can't leave a two year-old wandering loose while you visit the bathroom. Not if you value the child and any objets d'art you may own.
The most confusing result of it all is the development of a double standard. Our oldest has hysterics if we see her in her pyjamas. SHE locks the bathroom door. My son asks me to leave the bathroom and allow him to have peace and quiet in the tub. "Go read a book in your room, Mama."
Is he kidding? Reading is what got me in all this trouble in the first place.
This is every mother's horror story. Move over, Stephen King, and make way for....Tooslow.
Tooslow is a toddler. Any toddler. Maybe yours. Don't look behind you----Tooslow could, at this very moment, be lurking behind your chair, dipping graham crackers in your coffee.
Tooslow moves with all the speed and grace of an arthritic snail. The later you are for an appointment, the more Tooslow drags his/her feet or sits down in mid-sidewalk. The busier your schedule, the more Tooslow eats breakfast one Cheerio at a time. Tooslow is out to get you.
Tooslow knows two words: "No!" and "Why?" They are interchangable. Tooslow will hamper your conversation and turn your brain to mush. You will not make a decisive statement for the next three years.
The only time Tooslow will do anything in under five hours is when you turn your back for a second. This is a scientifically proven fact. Tooslow moves like lightning when you aren't looking. Tooslow can disappear at will in the grocery store between the dried beans and the cereal, and reappear like magic at the bottom of a pyramid of cans. The pyramid will self-destruct.
How do I know? Trust me. I've gone through three toddlers, just trying to get one right.
The first toddler was perfect, for awhile. At two, she never picked up so much as a crumb off the floor and put it in her mouth. I could leave her alone in a room full of crystal, and she didn't touch a thing. I thought I had it made. Wrong. She was just on a delayed timer. At six, she swallowed a button. At nine, she broke an entire set of wine glasses, two collector's plates, and a Melamine dish. Don't ask.
My second toddler was a disaster. This one I could leave alone in an EMPTY room, and he'd find something to break. He was prone to rising in the middle of the night and dismantling our alarm clock. An appointment at 2:00pm meant I had to start getting him ready at 7:00am. With luck, we'd only be half an hour late. And no object was ever too small or too large to escape the Taste Test. He lived by one simple rule: If you can't climb it or make a noise with it, eat it.
I'm still working on the third one. If I don't get this one right, I quit. It doesn't look good----She's taking lessons from her brother. Tooslow may finish me off this time. She has more patience than a setting hen; she can wait for me to crack:
"What have you got in your mouth?"
"No!"
"Open your mouth and let Mama see."
"No!"
"PLEASE, open your mouth!"
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to choke to death."
"Why?"
"Good question. Now open your mouth!"
"No!"
The caring mother now pries Twoslow's jaws carefully apart, inserts a gently probing finger....and gets half of it back.
Tooslow demands ritual, complete with human sacrifice. You. Naptime makes the Spanish Inquisition look like a garden party. Tooslow requires four lullabies, two stories (one of which must be read five times in succession, and DON'T skip a word!), seven kisses, four hugs and 23 drinks of water. This ritual must be repeated 365 days a year. In the EXACT same order. Your life won't be worth peanuts if you try to change a thing. If you are in a hurry and omit a single verse of a lullaby or one cup of water, heaven cannot help you. The wrath of Tooslow is an awesome, bone-chilling event.
Tooslow can reach decibel levels with one enraged screech that will curdle your blood for days. "Things that go bump in the night" are nothing compared to the drumming of Tooslow's heels on floor and wall. You will know in your soul that if Tooslow could suddenly grow to your size, you would be in Big Trouble. Lizzie Borden with her axe begins to look like an angel of mercy.
The only way to defeat Tooslow is to keep his/her hands busy and his/her mouth stuffed with food. You do not turn your back or pause in your vigil long enough to blink. Unless you WANT the dog's ears tied together and primitive, indelible art-work on the walls. Tooslow is more clever than you are and much more ingenious. God made toddlers cute and cuddly so we'd keep them. But don't be lulled into thinking your larger size means you are in charge here. You think so? Ha!
This tale of Tooslow is not a supernatural thriller; it is nonfiction. Tooslow exists. Tooslow is real. Tooslow may already be inside your house, asleep (yeah, right!) in the crib down the hall. It gets worse. Toddlers don't grow up; they just get bigger. "Terrible Two" is so called because that's when it STARTS.
And if that doesn't make your flesh creep, nothing will.
Once upon a time, I went camping with Snow Bunny and the Five Dwarfs. This is no fairy tale.
I am a firm believer in the old adage that camping is on a par with the bubonic plague or visiting the dentist. With one exception----the plague and the dentist are not 100% fatal. When I decided to take my Girl Scout troop on a camping trip, a little voice said, "You'll be so-o-orry!" I didn't listen.
My co-leader, Snow Bunny, thought it would be great fun to take our Scouts to the wilds of Rhein-Main Air Base and "rough it" for three days. But you have to consider the source. Snow Bunny could camp for six weeks in a swamp and come out looking as clean and fresh as she went in. Snow Bunny ran around the whole weekend in a jogging suit tailored for her body by Dior. Her hair held up even in the rain.
Not me.
Let's establish, once and for all, that I am an indoor person. My idea of "roughing it" is a power outage and a stopped-up toilet.
The first day wasn't so bad. We missed most of it. We got there late and set up camp in the dark.
Of course, it rained. What camping trip would be complete without flooded tents and soaked sleeping bags? Snow Bunny danced and smiled through it all. I limped and snarled. I'M human.
In addition to Snow Bunny, I had to contend with Shrinky, who didn't say three words in three days. And Gabby, who even talked in her sleep. Also Giggles, who thought it was hilarious that Mrs. Preddy tripped over a tent rope in the dark and received a free mud-facial. Gloomy hated everything, and Oblivious was there in body but not in spirit.
During regular Scout meetings, these people are just like you and me. Normal. Take them out in the rain, and they warp.
The highlight of my trip occurred on the second night. I was called to a leaders' campfire meeting. I am not stupid. I know "campfire" means "dark outside", and I have a classic case of night blindness.
I wandered for an hour, unable to see beyond the brightest circle from my flashlight. And that was focused on my feet to prevent a broken neck. A smart person would remain in one spot and yell for help; there were 250 Girl Scouts in the area, who'd have jumped at the chance to do a good deed. But I approach every crisis with single-minded concentration. At the moment, I was concentrating single-mindedly on PANIC.
When I staggered back into my own camp by accident, Snow Bunny was entertained by the fact that, instead of losing one of our Scouts in the woods as we'd feared, we lost the leader. Giggles giggled until she got the hiccups. Gabby asked a million questions but never drew breath long enough to get an answer. Shrinky didn't say a word. Gloomy thought we should all pack and go home. And Oblivious wanted to know if she could have another hotdog.
They gave me hot cocoa with a spider surfing on the marshmallow, and sent me off to my tent; Mrs. Preddy had had a hard day. It wasn't over.
As I climbed into my sleeping bag, I discovered a field mouse and a beetle holding a conference in the foot. NASA doesn't launch rockets as fast as those two launched me. On blastoff, the field mouse mistook my pyjama leg for an exit tunnel, and the two of us danced the tent down around my head. The beetle couldn't take the pressure----we couldn't find him later.
Giggles got more hiccups. Gabby asked more questions. Shrinky didn't say a word. Gloomy was convinced we should go home. And Oblivious wanted to know where we'd put the mustard. Snow Bunny thought the mouse was cute.
By the time we arrived back home, I looked and felt like the Missing Link; Snow Bunny looked like an Ivory commercial. Giggles was hiccuping in the back of the bus, and Gabby was blue from lack of oxygen. Gloomy wanted to spend another day camping. Oblivious was asleep. And Shrinky said, "I told you, you'd be so-o-orry!"
The next time someone suggests I take the Girl Scouts camping, I'm making a three-day dental appointment.
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