Wait...she did what?

No matter how vigilant you think you are as a parent there will always be a moment in your life where your attention is elsewhere and it costs you. And I’m not just talking about the interference of third parties – not every parent will have a Madeline McCann moment but I guarantee that every parent has a moment where they glanced away and their kid did something soul-destroyingly destructive. Kids are like demi-Gods. Maybe it’s because no one’s explained the rules of space and time in a way that they understand, allowing them to bend them at will. Maybe they have superpowers. Maybe they are just so darn fast you can’t see them. Having been a mother for four years now I can confidently say that something’s up and the little blighters have figured out ways to get into mischief no matter how closely you watch them. It’s uncanny.

Charlotte is shockingly creative on the naughty front. She commenced her career of doing my head in at the tender age of eight months old. I was swapping some cakes over in the oven, a two minute non-event, when I noticed how eerily quiet it was. This, as all parents will tell you, is a sure sign that trouble is up. And sure enough I returned to the living room to find that Miss-I-Can’t­-Even-Walk-Yet had grabbed a box of nappies, pushed it in front of the couch, used it to climb onto the seat of the couch, then the arm of the couch and was now balanced precariously, picking books off the bookshelf that the couch was there to protect one by one and tossing them to the ground below.

From that kicking off point she has gotten better and better at avoiding detection while she quietly wreaks havoc. The permanent marker incident is widely considered the pinnacle of her career, but other notable mentions include the painting incident that took place shortly after we moved into our new house. In this case she’d been outside for a while and, as usual, it was the creepy sound of nothing that tipped us off. I looked out the window to check on her and found her studiously running a paint roller up and down the bars of the stair rail on the back steps. It took me a few moments to realise she’d found the paint roller I was soaking after painting James’ bedroom.

Charles and I hurtled outside and snatched it off her and then commenced rapidly washing the brand new Colorbond fence, the side of the house, the sleepers in the garden, the stairs and the stair rail to try and get rid of the paint before it dried. While we did that she disappeared inside and put painty little hand prints all over the brand new leather couch.

A lot of these incidents stem from wanting to be like Mum and Dad. She’s dying to sew like me, cook like me, paint like Daddy and, in general, grow up and be our best friend. As a result, we can’t really leave anything we’re working on lying around. I learned my lesson a year ago when her cousin Chloe was on the way. I was working hard at a baby quilt for Jenny’s baby shower and went to bed shortly after finishing the main panel for the front of the quilt. The next day I started attaching the borders but couldn’t find the fourth and final piece.

I looked high and low. Charles helped and I had to convince him that I’d cut a fourth piece at all. Finally, in sheer desperation, I raided the garbage bin where I’d thrown all the excess scraps and finally realised what had happened. Madam had taken it and my scissors, cutting it up so she could “help” me. I’d grabbed it with the rest of the scraps because, by the time she was done with it, it looked like it had been fed through a lawn mower.

Quite pregnant myself I had to drive clear across town to Spotlight in Queanbeyan to buy 20cm of that wretched fabric so I could finish the quilt. The 98c cost of the fabric was surely more than the petrol but it was worth learning the hard way not to leave my sewing within her grasp. It could have been worse…it could have been the main quilt panel which had taken me a couple of hours to make.

Charles has learned this very same lesson over the weekend. He came home yesterday and attempted to use his top notch utility knife to cut open a box of goods for our business. Unfortunately for him someone had super glued it shut. Further exploration revealed, to his horror, that Charlotte had taken quite a few of his delicate modelling tools and carefully glued them together. She was very precise and quite accurate. Only two drops of super glue on the dining table and none at all on her hands. Poor Charles didn’t know whether to be proud or cross and had to settle on something in between. We’re lucky it didn’t wind up in a trip to the emergency ward. It will, however, cost Daddy a trip to Bunnings for a new set of modelling tools.

Madam was totally unrepentant despite being sent to her room in deep disgrace while I tried hard not to giggle in the kitchen. As soon as Charles and his thundercloud left to go and fetch us more dinner ingredients (surprise dinner guest), her sunny little face was beaming into mine in the kitchen.

“Hello you. You’re in trouble and you’re meant to be in your room.”

“I’m in trouble with Daddy,” she corrected me brightly, “and he’s not here!”

“Mmm. And do you know why you’re in trouble with Daddy?”

“Because Daddy doesn’t want me to have any fun?”

“No – you’re in trouble because you glued Daddy’s tools together. And you know you’re not allowed to touch Daddy’s tools.”

“No Mama, I’m not allowed to touch your tools. You tell me all the time.”

“Well you’re not allowed to touch Daddy’s tools either and I think you know that. Daddy loves his tools and you glued them all together. How would you like it if I took your Roly Moe* and glued him to all your other toys?”

There is no metaphor that can accurately convey the horror that passes over her face when I say this. Roly Moe is her everything. I send her back to her room to think about that and when Daddy comes home she darts out to deliver her genuine apology.

“Daddy I’m really, really sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Really sorry.”

Everyone knows that Daddys mean fun and Mamas mean business. Daddy is probably not mean enough to threaten the sanctity of Roly Moe’s perfect furry existence, but Mama certainly is. Mind you, I’m not the one whose tools are being glued together!

* Roly Moe is the ugliest soft toy you can imagine. He is a grey mole with weird goggle eyes and features in the recent Disney movie “G Force”. I have no idea what his name is in that movie but Charlotte has christened him “Roly Moe”. She won him on her own out of a skill tester and he is prized above all others, including “Nyamie”.