After a week of being cooped up during February break, combined with frigid temperatures, my two typically well-behaved boys have transformed into something else entirely. Here are ten peculiar things they now resemble after confinement in our cozy apartment.
- Lobsters. We attempted various activities—Just Dance, blanket forts, jump rope—but it resulted in chaos. My children were still throwing toys and grappling at us with relentless enthusiasm. It felt like being surrounded by a thousand live lobsters fighting for freedom.
- A Barbed-Wire Fence. Young children have no concept of personal space. Every time I try to navigate our narrow hallway, they morph into a flailing barrier, yanking at my clothes and hair while I lose a shoe in the process. The struggle to sneak away for a bathroom break feels reminiscent of Tim Robbins escaping in The Shawshank Redemption.
- The 1983 Pine Tar Incident. If you’re a baseball fan, you’ll recall this notorious game highlighting bickering and self-serving disputes. Swap the players for two kids bickering over the rightful owner of a Post-It note, and you get the same vibe.
- Bats. With no sunlight and little exercise, my kids’ sleep schedules have gone haywire. They roam the house in the middle of the night, flicking on lights. Just last night, I stumbled upon my 4-year-old upside down on the couch, eyes wide open. He was far too heavy to carry, so I resorted to dragging him back to bed by his ankles.
- The Blair Witch Project. The week has intensified the bizarre little installations typical of small children. A hundred earplugs stuffed into my shoe, Band-Aids clinging to the fridge, and a whisk paired with a rolled-up immunization record lodged in the toilet latch. These make-shift shrines resemble erratic offerings, combining sticks, stones, and assorted random items. It’s like living with a tiny, unpredictable artist, and cleanup is off the table.
- Four Hundred Seventy-Three Harley Davidsons on a New Jersey Ferry. The noise level in our small space is overwhelming, with a constant threat of chaos and some unpleasant odors lingering. It feels like someone is day-drinking in the corner, leading me to anticipate a potential mess.
- A Loose Fan Belt. Have you ever tried to sleep while a poorly maintained truck idles outside? That’s the sound of a toddler confined for days, just as I try to prepare dinner.
- Remembrance of Things Past, Summarized in Five Minutes. By 9 a.m., we’ve tackled eight books, constructed three forts, baked two batches of brownies, colored three coloring books, and absorbed four hours of television. Enjoyment is scarce, and even a brief moment of peace feels precarious. Showering turns into triage, prioritizing which body parts need washing first.
- A Psychological Experiment. By the end of the week, it feels like we’ve swapped roles: the boys are rampaging around, smeared in lipstick, while I’m left tied to the toilet with a whisk and an immunization record.
- Excuses for Wine. Let’s be honest; these situations have always provided great reasons for a little wine.
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In summary, a week spent indoors can lead to unexpected transformations in children—turning them into chaotic, unpredictable beings. It’s a wild ride, but finding moments of humor and resources can help navigate the storm.
Keyphrase: Non-human things kids resemble after a week indoors
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