As the parent of a toddler, one of my favorite activities now is to review all of the many things I swore I'd never do once I had kids of my own. These include making a mess at restaurants; allowing my child to watch inane programs on television; and having dozens of tiny toys underfoot in every room of the house. I'll admit it: I'm a failure on every count. Sure, I put up a good fight, but kids are a cunning, relentless foe. Sooner or later they'll wear you down to the point that begging for extra crackers or praying for a Teletubbies marathon seems like your best and only shot at staying sane.

Back in my waitressing days, nothing drove me more nuts than a family with young kids. Not the children -- I've always loved little ones. No, it was their parents. I'd watch in horror while they allowed their kids to turn a basket full of crackers into an unrecognizable heap of crumbs and dust that they then scattered in every direction. Drinks were spilled willy-nilly, turning the former crackers into a gluey paste that stuck to condiment bottles, saltshakers, seats, walls, and the soles of your shoes. The standard kid meal, chicken fingers and French fries, meant puddles of ketchup everywhere but on their plates, and if the little darlings were seated in a booth, it was all but guaranteed that we?d have to clean up partially chewed fries that had been wedged into the space between the seat cushions. Waiting tables in a family restaurant probably set my reproductive goals back at least five years. It was that gruesome.

Naturally, I swore that my kids would never behave that way. What I didn't understand was how completely uncivilized the average fourteen month-old child is. You can't ask a person who's only just discovered the exciting possibilities of a fork to be a tidy eater. You also can't ask a toddler to enjoy the atmosphere and experience of dining out. Kids want to be entertained, or barring that, distracted. As a waitress, I thought crackers were food. As a parent, I know they're more valuable than money when it comes to buying a few minutes peace and quiet between appetizer and entr?e. There have been occasions in restaurants where we were so desperate to keep our daughter happy that, had there been a tank nearby, we'd have sent her over to play with the live lobsters. Anything for a few minutes to actually chew a meal before swallowing it.

Which brings me to television. We thought, like many rational people, that the Teletubbies were some sort of acid trip on tape until Olivia came along. My husband, a stay at home dad, first discovered the hypnotic power of Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Lala, and Po when, in a moment of raw desperation, he parked the baby in front of the TV so that he could get a few things done. Now we love the Tubbies like family, and can always count on them when times are tough and we really, really need a thirty-minute break. Ditto for Zaboomafoo, which is kind of hard to explain to non-believers. Let's just say it involves a lemur puppet, two crazy brothers, and a whole lot of messy fun with animals. Six months ago I couldn't have pronounced it. Now I don't know how we ever lived without it.

Every bit of our home is strewn with toys. Books, cars, dolls, balls, Legos, and stuffed bears occupy every room. There are boats in our tub, dolls in our bed, Matchbox cars in our shoes, and the other day I found crayons stuffed into the coffee maker. Olivia roams the house squirreling away her possessions like a tiny madwoman. We diligently pick up her books and babies, but it's like trying to empty the sea with a teacup. We're defeated before we begin. It's so bad that we've gotten used to having a giant plastic horse on springs in the middle of the living room. The place just looks empty without it.

It's official: I've become one of Them, the Cracker People, a member of the frazzled horde who actually understands Tubby culture. But I remember my former self and the vows I made. That's why you'll find me down on my knees in a restaurant cleaning up after Olivia. It's wrong for us to burden innocent servers with our baby mayhem. Unless you have twins. Then all bets are off.