Enter at your own risk

Sometimes I feel like I should hang a sign on the front door that says, “Reminder: I have kids.”  Or perhaps I should have a short speech prepared for those who enter my home, much like the flight attendants who are required to inform you of safety procedures before you place your life in the hands of the airline staff.

Although most of the time, you will not be at risk of physical injury in my home, there are no guarantees.  A wayward light saber, toy rifle  or not quite so plush indoor ball have been known to leave a few marks.

However, the main reason I feel compelled to remind people, or maybe educate them in the first place, as to what it means to have kids inside, is that for those of you who are childless, you really have no idea what you are in for.

When you enter my home for a visit, there will rarely be a sentence completed that doesn’t involve some interjection such as  “Please share the toy” or “Hey! Don’t do that!” or “Try me again you little maniac and you will be in time out until you graduate college!”   So, please don’t expect my full attention.

If we are sharing a meal, it will not be served on fine china, or even anything akin to your mama’s matching Corelle dinnerware.    You will receive your pizza, which was frozen until twenty minutes before you arrived, on whatever scraps of plates and bowls that are the least scratched and chipped.  If yours happens to be decorated with My Little Pony, you’re just going to have to deal with it.

The food will not be served in a luxurious dining room setting, but rather in a stress free splatter zone such as over the kitchen linoleum or living room hardwood.   I can also pretty much promise you that no two adults and children will ever be seated at the same time.   Children aren’t really geared for sitting still.

Though I have made a decent effort to clean before your arrival, damage control is a much better term for what I actually accomplished.  Therefore, if there is something sticky, mushy, crumbly, or otherwise mysterious occupying the same space as you, I sincerely apologize, but please, no grimacing mouths or rolling eyes until you are pulling out of my driveway.   You can gloat over your clean white gloves at your own house, but I don’t need that kind of guilt.   I’m already wracked with more guilt over all the ways I will screw up these small human beings, than your obsessive need for cleanliness could ever contribute to my depression.

You are welcome to move about my home freely and serve yourself whatever refreshment helps to alleviate the culture shock you now find yourself in, but be aware that there is no tutorial offered for how to operate the various locks and barricades you must maneuver to accomplish your goals.   It’s every man for himself around here.  We are lucky if we can figure out how to open a drawer or open the door to the basement stairs.   But if you do figure it out, and you happen to see my red-handled can opener, please, whatever you do, don’t lock it up again.

I really hope that you can enjoy this time of socializing, but if the two year old handing you small pieces of Play-doh, Cheese Puffs, or broken crayon tips is bothering you, you’re in for a long night.   Sure, you could suggest that she sit quietly in “that” corner of the room and look at books, but know that the intensity of your desire for her to do so is in direct contradiction to the fascination she will have with your reactions to her various little “gifts.”

And, while you are desperately racking your brain, trying to figure out where you can politely deposit  this strange little collection of stuff, instead, your hands will overflow because you won’t be able to problem solve and attentively listen to the seven year old’s dissertation on every action figure ever manufactured by Hasbro or Mattel.

You may, however, inquire as to whether we have aspirin.    The answer will be an emphatic yes, but by the time we figure out how to unlock that cabinet, it may be quicker for you to run down to the local liquor store.

All I can say is that for your sake, I hope it isn’t the dead of winter, and that your battery starts, because if you have to stay with us for any length of time, you’re going to need something stronger than that old piece of spearmint gum you found in your coat pocket.

For you will first be tortured with sleep deprivation.   Even after the natives have wound down and collapsed from their three hour pow-wow, you will have to clear a collection of squeaky toys, cookie crumbs and stray, dirty socks from under the couch cushions before you can spread your bed sheets there.   You will spend another twenty minutes or so studying the stains in peculiar places on these sheets, and assessing just how important warmth and/or absence of couch texture face is to you.

If you decide to forge ahead, you are most certainly welcome to use the bathroom for your nighttime rituals.  You wouldn’t have thought to bring a toothbrush, but we can at least offer you toothpaste for your finger tip.  However, you should know that the cap may have been licked at some point in time.   The soap dispenser will shoot some sort of green foam into your hand.  Please do not be alarmed. The color really was put there by the manufacturer.    If you happen to knock the rubber ducky, squirting whale, sifter cups, sea animal sponges or bath paints into the sink while you are attempting to reach the faucet, not to worry.  They were probably never completely dry anyway.

I apologize in advance for the lack of ease in using the toilet paper roll.   Though I know you’d like it to spin and tear off easily, instead it will make an awkward thwump, thwump, thwump as it turns and sticks, turns and sticks.   It’s no use taking apart the holder mechanism and looking for a defect.   The tissue itself was, while still in the original plastic, used as a ride-on toy by the kids, thereby crushing every cardboard roll in the 24 pack package.

If you make it back to the couch without stepping on something that rolls or squeaks, thus waking one of the natives, you might, just might, be able to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep.  However, if you’re fond of the really restful sleep that comes in the latter part of the night, you may be just a wee bit annoyed to find that your eyelids are being stretched open by tiny, prying fingers well before you are coherent enough to know your own name or how you ended up here.

When you finally stumble down the front steps to meet the ride that has come to rescue you and your broken down vehicle, don’t feel badly about the rate of speed at which you exit.  Many stronger than you have turned tail and run sooner than the morning light.

And don’t worry, if we find any of your belongings left behind, we’ll put them in the mail.   All we ask is that you never, ever, tell anyone what you saw here.   We get so few visitors as it is.