I could leave LMC in front of Mickey Mouse and grab a quick shower.
I could put food on LMC's tray and she would eat it. When she was done, she would signal and wait patiently while I cleaned her up.
I could let LMC play in the kitchen. She would always go for the tupperware cabinet. She would pull them out, and climb inside to play.
Bennie likes to climb on things. And then climb higher. She gets on a chair and bounces up and down before climbing onto the table to stand up while clapping her hands- as if to say, "The man can't keep me down. Or even low to the ground."
Bennie likes to find things. In all the cabinets. And throw them on the ground. Tupperware? Sure. Sippy cups? Why not. But-- behind Door Number 2, there is mom's pyrex. And it's breakable. Let's grab that aaaannnnnnddddd throw it over there! Crash. Break. Snap. Shatter. I come running.
Nice Bennie. Real nice.
I sweep. I clean. I block Door Number 2.
Please, mom. Seriously? You think blocking Door Number 2 is going to stop me? Fool. You blocked Door Number 2 with a chair. And I climb on chairs like it is my job.
LMC calls me to the back for an e-m-e-r-g-e-c-n-c-y. She cannot find her broken bus and has fallen out screaming as if she has slashed her foot open. I run.
Cooling LMC's jets, I head back to the kitchen to stir the chili on the stove. Bennie has the biggest smile on her face with giggles peeling as she runs. In her hands, she wields my four and a half inch blade Santoku knife that I left far out of reach on the cutting board-- far, far away from Door Number 2.
She drops the knife and looks at me.
I tell her no.
She pokes her bottom lip out like I just kicked her puppy.
LMC actually has an emergency and I run back to the back to see that she has trapped herself under her bed via a toy ribbon (don't ask). Bennie at my heels, she claps her hands and lowers her head to her tiny feet to see her sister trapped under the bed. Uninterested, she turns and toddles off.
Freeing LMC, Bennie has made her way to the bathroom and is splashing her toothbrush in the toilet.
She drops the toothbrush and looks at me.
I tell her no.
She pokes her lip out further and drops her chin to her chest.
Because, what's scarier? Seeing your child wield a knife with ninja expertise or be on the cusp of brushing her teeth with toilet water (because all five year olds are experts at flushing on a regular basis....)?
I have no idea.