Parenting from my Armchair: Baby v. Vacuum

I settle down for a relaxing evening with my husband after all the kids are asleep. I’m all snuggled into my armchair and ready to watch a good story on the television. We choose from over 120 items we have saved on our DVR (because we want to do this more often than we actually get to do this).

Just when the story is getting so good I’m barely eating my popcorn, it suddenly stops and a message appears on the screen. It says, ‘Your Playback Has Ended’ which translated really means:

“Your kid’s been messing with me!”

Parent’s night in has once again been foiled by our genius one-year-old who has a knack for knowing how to push just the right buttons on the DVR to cause our favorite shows to stop recording at pivotal plot points.

The next morning I see her butt-scooting across the floor, with toys in both hands, pretending to play with them while getting gradually closer to the DVR.

From my armchair I say, “No.”

She looks my way with her mischievous grin and scoots a little closer. She even points to it and babbles a few words. They sound like,

“Try and stop me.”

I give her my best motherly, “Don’t you dare” stare. This only seems to make her more determined as she drops the toys and heads for the machine in a full out speed-crawl.

She’s challenged me to a race and I take the bait. I lunge from my armchair to stop her hand, but I arrive too late. The buttons have been pushed and I don’t know how to undo it. I won’t know what damage has been done to my favorite television characters until it is too late. I could cry, but I don’t.

I have tried every tactic I know, but she won’t bend her will, so I am forced to bring out the secret weapon.

It stands about four feet tall and has a stylish purple handle. The one-year-old pauses her plans for television domination and watches me unravel the power cord. Just as my finger nears the red power button, her eyes defy me with a “You wouldn’t” glare.

“I would” my eyes reply.

She tests my resolve and while her eyes never leave mine, she reaches for the DVR. Her finger reaches the button just as mine does. Suddenly, the loud whirr of the vacuum causes her arm to recoil and now I have her undivided attention.

I push the purple handled whirring machine toward her and she zooms to the other side of the room. I continue sweeping the carpet, pretending I don’t notice her, except when she moves toward the DVR, I turn the vacuum back toward her.

Soon, she is sitting in a corner gripping her soft-edged Pooh blanket and her eyes pleadingly say,

“Make it stop.”

So, I do.

But, I let the vacuum sit out for now, so I can return to parenting from my armchair. When she points to the DVR, I point to the vacuum, and I win. For now, the score is even.

****This is the first story in a series titled, "Armchair Parent"