Aside from this one stamp incident, we decided to make a whole new category that explains the reasons why We Can’t Have Nice Things.
You may have small children. Your small children may be grown (and you will absolutely nod your head in agreement). If you are yet to have small children, beware! It is true, what they say. Small children are dirty, careless and competely in the dark when it comes to having, owning, and taking pictures of, nice things.
If you are one of the latter who thinks ‘talking to’ your little ones will help, I laugh. Not out loud, of course. I don’t want to insult you. Just quietly, internally.
If you do have small children who adhere to keeping your things in great nick, then
I just want to stab your eye with a fork good for you!
When we purchase things, , even if they’re second hand, they’re usually in pretty good condition. It doesn’t generally take long for small fingers, small feet, and careless small bodies to make a mess of our things.
You know what? We don’t care. As long as it can be cleaned up, it’s just not a big deal. Kids play. Kids experiment. Kids do dumb things that are only slightly more dumb than the things adults do (and sometimes adults do waaaay more dumb than the things kids do).
I wish I had taken photos of every ‘this is why we can’t have nice things’ incident that has ever happened. We’d probably keep you entertained for a year.
But I didn’t, so we start our documentation from here – with Little Miss Hammerling at 4yo, Master Hammerling at 6yo and our biggest Hammerling at 13yo.
This time around, it’s the stamps. Self-inking stamps I purchased from Aldi a year or two ago in an attempt to reward good behaviour. ‘Hey, great! You wiped your own butt! Have a stamp!’, ‘Oh, you little sweetie, you put your dishes in the sink! Have a stamp!’
Yeah, didn’t happen like that. No matter how high we stored the stamps, the babies would find something climbable to reach the stamps, and just stamp, stamp, stamp all the live long day.
So the stamp-reward system kinda failed. I say ‘kinda’, ‘coz they still stamp whenever they can find the time or wall space to place their inky stars, dinosaurs and happy faces.
So tonight, I was in the kitchen and Little Miss Hammer, with a star stamp, asked me if she coud stamp me.
Sure, sweet pea. No worries. Reward me for going to work today and providing you with food for your belly and a warm roof over your head (hey, take the implied gratitude where you can!).
When asked if she could stamp me again, I decided one stamp was good enough for my efforts at supporting her well-being, and told her, ‘daddy wants you to stamp his forehead’.
Okay, sometimes kids listen.
So all was good and happy and awesome.
Then, a couple of hours later, I am walking down the hall, and what do I see?
Yes, Little Miss Hammer got stamp-happy. I get my cranky-pants on and ask her where else she stamped.
The kitchen cabinets.
The sunscreen bottle that was left the bench.
The broom. Seriously?! Yes, the broom.
With a certain amount of desperation in my voice, I ask where else she has stamped that is not paper or skin (the Hammer – approved list of stampable objects). She assures me nowhere.
I am waiting to see, one day, where I will find an inky blue star where it is not meant to be.
And I give her a rag and a dose of Gumption and tell her to get to work. She cleans it all.
I also ask her to pose for a ‘you’re in trouble’ photo. Yes, she does look somewhat amused. Because she knows she’s already been in trouble, and has fixed it, so is not actually in trouble anymore.
You can see she also gave herself a stamp – on her shirt . . .
We love our kiddies. Always and forever. Their antics
want to make us bash our heads against a wall crack us up.
Tell us why you can’t have nice things! Misery loves company . . !