Jack’s new favorite thing is to push all the dining room chairs over to various points in the kitchen and get into EVERYTHING on that particular countertop. Drawers full of knives, the stove, the toaster, the coffee pot, the sink, etc. Despite locking things and unplugging things and moving them out of his reach, the kitchen has suddenly become unsafe again, so I have to watch him like a hawk every second we’re in there. And like most toddlers, he has a one-track mind, is very stubborn, and doesn’t like to be told no, so endless temper tantrums are the result each and every time I’m brave enough (or dumb enough) to venture into the kitchen. SIGH.

God help me if I have to go to the bathroom and leave him alone for a second. The kid managed to climb up and stick his hand on the still-hot coffee pot before I even sat down on the loo! He’s QUICK. (No serious burn, though he DID cry!) I feel like he’s an infant again and I have to watch him every.single.second, which is annoying because I’ve been enjoying his (and my) freedom for that for several months.

I have put up with this for about four days now, with the understanding that as soon as Brian gets home from Macworld in San Francisco, we are going out to buy something—anything—that will keep him from being able to move the damn chairs across the wood floor. I know of nothing other than some sort of heavy rubber feet. I’m going to have to look around and see what I can find. (I briefly thought about an area rug, but that wouldn’t stop him. The child is freakishly strong, just like his mother.)

But after the latest tantrum, I marched each and every one of those goddamn chairs into the bedroom and locked the door behind them. Now my dining room table is chairless, and I’m unable to eat there, but thank CHRIST for the silence!

Oh, if only that were all I had to deal with. There’s pet drama, too. So when he’s acting up AND the dog and the two cats? I don’t stand a chance.

The dog? Oh dear jesus, the goddamn dog. He chews EVERYTHING, despite having DOZENS of chew toys and bones scattered throughout the house. He destroys EVERYTHING. In sixty seconds, he can have a hole chewed in one of Jack’s favorite pair of pajamas, or a shoe, or one of Jack’s toys. He steals food out of Jack’s hands. He plays too rough with the cats (not that I really care about the stupid cats, but still…) He gets too rowdy and almost knocks Jack off the stairs at least once a day. He gets up in my face all day every day and annoys me.

There are periods of time when I think he’s calmed down and is doing a lot better, fitting in and finding his place in this family. Then he has a really bad week where I just want to throw him outside and lock the door before I kill him. This has been one of those weeks, unfortunately. (Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ever harm any animal. The most I ever do is yell.)

And the cats. Ohhhhh. I hate the cats. Nothing ever changes there. But Rowdy has decided he’s going to start jumping up on the counters. Previously, the cats would only do this when there was a bouquet of flowers on the table. Or maybe a plant. (I DO NOT LIKE THIS. I know most cats do this, but I am NOT okay with it. I don’t want cat hair or their nasty little litterbox feet all over my counters. DISGUSTING. I thought I’d broken them both of it years ago.) But now Rowdy is suddenly jumping up on the counters to eat morsels on dishes. Or to look for dog bones. Or whatever he hell he’s doing. I keep catching him at it, tell him “no, bad kitty!”, pick him up and lock him in his room. It’s not working. I may have to break all four of his legs to prevent him from jumping at all.