My husband affectionately coined the name Master of Disaster for my daughter. She, as toddlers typically are, has an extremely healthy level of curiosity and a seemly endless amount of energy to explore. We did the usual child-proofing measures of putting locks on drawers, the gate at the top of the stairs and plugs in sockets. While she continued to grow in bravery and independence we quickly learned to clear clutter in her path and try to keep her confined when possible. Since I have not discovered how to be a hovering mom AND accomplish household tasks this has led to the nickname Master of Disaster.
For example, this morning she sat in her booster chair eating her breakfast while I was in the kitchen. I take advantage of the moments when she is strapped in and with food to occupy her so that I can clean the kitchen and complete tasks like emptying the dishwasher without an assistance climbing in. She sat eating in a cheerful mood, talking throughout her meal in her indistinguishable baby garble. My overly productive morning quickly turned to the realization that my back was turned to her too much when she indicated “All done,” and I saw how she had used most of her yogurt as lotion for her pants.
Her favorite disaster creating media is water. She could spend hours in the bathtub, sprinkler, or faucet just playing. The unfortunate part is that we don’t have all the time int he world to be playing with those things and she sometimes tries to make do with the dog bowl. I have found her with a measuring cup from the drawer scooping water from the bowl to the floor. I have scolded her for using her play kitchen set spoons to stir the dog’s water bowl. And I have noticed a pattern in her intentionally dipping her hands in the dog dish in order to get to play with the water in the faucet since the only rational step after putting hands in the water dish would be to wash hands.
By far the most comical, yet disgusting, Master of Disaster move I have seen yet with the dog’s water bowl happened as most of these incidences started. I am busy trying to keep up with my household mess and trust she is innocently playing with her things until I realize she has been quiet and independent for too long.
“Parker” I call from the kitchen. Within seconds she steps into the doorway from the dining room to the kitchen, facing me, hands to her side, silent with a pacifier plugged in and avoiding eye contact. “Have you been in the water dish Parker?” I ask.
She loosens from her frozen position and moves past me in the kitchen to the refrigerator magnets. I can almost see the thought bubble in her head trying to distract me from questioning if she takes position with an approved activity. I continue to look down at her and recognize her hand is wet, of course she has been entertained by the water bowl. Crouching down on her level I show her that I noticed. She finally looks up at me with her big brown I’m sorry don’t I look too sweet to punish eyes. She resumes use of the pacifier in her mouth and I can tell from the wet escaping with every suck that it too has been submerged in the dog’s water dish.