I Run a Frat House

Parenting a toddler is basically being the RA of a drunk frat house.

Every night I conduct security rounds.

Tonight’s incident report:

• Finley discovered he could hang from the safety bar on his bed. Naturally this meant repeatedly dangling from it while shouting, “Wahoo! I did it!” before launching himself back onto the mattress to do it again.
• Luca is finally drifting off to sleep. Finley decides it’s the perfect time for a prison escape. He tiptoes dramatically… while I’m literally sitting in the room watching him. Then slowly opens the bedroom door with all the subtlety of someone kicking in a SWAT raid.

I whisper, “Shhh.”

The cat meows.

Finley, at full volume:
“PANDA BE QUIET! SHHHHH!”

Clearly the cat was the one disturbing bedtime.

• He wanders across the hall to the bathroom where my husband is. Instead of a normal conversation, I hear banging on the bathroom door followed by Finley screaming:

“OPEN OUT!! OPEN OUT!!”

Like he’s serving a search warrant.

• Meanwhile, Luca sleepily asks for water in his bottle. I go fill it up. By the time I get back, he’s already asleep.

Finley immediately starts panic-yelling:

“WHERE’S LUCA?!”

Sir.

He’s in the bed directly next to yours.

• Eventually I convince the tiny chaos goblin to lie down.

Ten minutes later?

Out cold.

Meanwhile I’m left standing in the hallway wondering how I survived another evening managing what can only be described as a fraternity house where everyone is two feet tall, pants are optional (seriously why do little boys never wear clothes?? As soon as we walk in the door people strip down wtf is that?) , and no one has any impulse control.

See you all tomorrow for another exciting episode of Toddler House: Noise Violations and Emotional Support Marshmallows.