This deviousness is not surprising-- I knew it was coming sooner than later. Still, I was hoping for later.
Turns out Will is much like normal toddlers with an inborn sense of longing for those things which are most dangerous, expensive, messy, etc. Isn't it so ironic how happy a toddler is when they are holding an object they know they shouldn't have? It produces the most giddy of happiness.
Too bad mom keeps taking those things away.
Opening drawers, cupboards, swiping things off tables, pulling things out of the dishwasher; the full blown stage of baby proofing has begun.
The toilet seems to be the object of greatest pleasure. First he gets to stick his hands in there, maybe fish something out, maybe throw something in, then in comes mom with that funny look on her face and making that alarming sound and she washes his hands and that's kind of fun. It can just go on and on like that with four other children who continually forget to shut the bathroom door.
So after much research on Amazon this week I installed these:
Works like a charm. Except when Nathaniel's friends come over to play video games on Friday night and drink one Dr Pepper after another and then come upstairs to find that the toilet is so close, but yet sooo far. Apparently somebody couldn't figure out how to use it and I found the disassembled toilet lock on top of the sink. Heh heh. Maybe I need to post an instructional diagram? Have a little training session for all the friends?
Anyhoo-- today marks the third day of the fever portion of this lovely flu I find myself saddled with in honor of the beginning of another school year. Despite this--and a few other rather unreliable sets of eyes that were supposed to be "helping your mom get some sleep"-- I was having to peel myself repeatedly out of bed to do damage control:
Bowl left by John a little too close to the edge. My Corelle is slowly biting the dust on this beautiful but very sturdy tile floor. The dishes never seem to win and when they hit the floor it sounds a bit like a glass explosion.
A frame I had sitting on my desk in the kitchen. It's been there about six months waiting for my Type A self to find the perfect place to hang it. Will has solved that problem nicely.
He looks satisfied, does he not?
Conclusion: Mom must never get sick again.
(and the broom. . .
and the mop. . .
and the vacuum . . .)