Sunday, February 1, 2009

Spinning Yarn: A True Story

Last night, my husband, Carlo, and I were unable to secure a babysitter and had to cancel our date with friends. In an attempt to redeem what was left of a difficult day of schlepping kids to ice skating lessons, getting rid of the Christmas tree (yes, we did this on January 31st) and scrubbing cat pee out of my son's room, we decided to tag team in the kitchen and make risotto, which left our 5-year old son, Paolo, to his own devices, as 8-year old Maggie was actually entertaining herself with her Barbies in the newly cleaned toy room. While in the final 5-minutes of the dish, a ball of yarn rolls into the kitchen. Paolo is 4 paces behind it and smiling. Carlo picks up the ball & tells Paolo to wind it back up, it's mommy's and he's not to play with it. And we go back to the risotto, because how difficult could that instruction be?

Five minutes later, something catches Carlo's eye and he starts to freak out - Paolo has decided to become Spiderman and use my yarn (which is attached to a new project, by the way) as his web. He's got a good 5 inches of yarn twisted and knotted TIGHTLY around his left arm, but it doesn't end there. We live in a century-old, vintage 6 flat -- our condo is 100' long from stem to stern -- and Paolo has rolled the yarn (which I've violently ripped from his arm) throughout all but 2 rooms in our house.

It's around chairs, under beds and wrapped around the waste can and heater in the big bathroom. It skirted through the tongues of some shoes in our closet and then stretched all the way back up front, where it was tangled in Barbie's townhouse AND Hannah Montana's backstage locker.

I actually called the 5-year old "Asshole." To his face. That's how crazy mad I was. And again -- all this yarn was attached to a knitting needle -- this was an IN PROGRESS ball of yarn (and I had already torn the project apart three times that day).

It took us a full 15-minutes (and by us, I mean Carlo because I was in the back putting Paolo into jammies and threatening no dinner (and he loves risotto. it's one of the 5 meals he eats)). All the while, yelling at how hateful a thing this was. By now, he is crying his eyes out -- he even has those little shakes because Carlo and I are both so. damn. angry. It went something like this:

Me: Paolo! Why did you do this?
Paolo: I don't know Mommy.
Me: No dinner for you! I'm too furious to even look at you.
Paolo: No rizzotto?
Me: No!
Paolo: I'm sowwy, Mommy.
Me: It was so rude. I'm furious.
Paolo: I know it was wude. I don't know why I did it...

And so on, and so on.

Once Carlo salvaged the yarn, we warmed up the risotto (and it was good) and called Paolo to the table. Three bites into the meal, I burst into tears for getting so freaked out about a ball of yarn. Paolo ended up sitting on my lap while we cried and ate our risotto together, while Carlo and Maggie sat across the table, looking at us like we were insane.

I went to bed last night STILL feeling bad about calling him an asshole (who does that???) and worried that I damaged him permanently. And what happens next? That little asshole woke up this morning like nothing ever happened and has already picked three fights with his sister, pummeled the cat with stuffed toys (the same cat that deliberately uses Paolo's bedroom as a litterbox) and jammed a wadded up tissue up his nose so far that Carlo couldn't even see it. Worry not -- we got it out.


  1. eeek! It's bad enough you had such a bad night, but then you're all up before 6!!! and he's already on the run? Tracy, this is why you can eat anything!


  2. very clever. dcfs will be there monday! you funny lady.

  3. After six years and countless carpets and throw rugs later, my inside cats are officially outside cats. Best thing I ever did--no puke, hairballs, or pee, and I can put food wherever I want without worry that "the cat might get into it." Oh, sorry about your yarn.