Colin is fifteen months old now and he’s been walking for a solid three, which means we are now in running-full-speed-ahead toddler mode. I mean the developmental stage where you need to follow, guide, and correct your kid every waking moment to ensure they don’t rappel out of their cribs, attempt to eat a Styrofoam apple, or stick a fork in a light socket.
A few weeks ago, Colin learned how to simultaneously open the stairs gate and slide backwards down the steps on his belly (safely, instead trying to do it standing up) so we’ve been leaving the gate open and letting him explore his very baby-proofed room alone. Keep in mind, we live in a small house, so if I’m sitting at my desk downstairs, I hear everything the little goblin is doing, which is normally playing with blocks or pulling all of the books off his shelves. And I know, being the veteran (shell-shocked) parent that I am, I know that when the kid is quiet for any length of time, he’s getting in trouble.
Last week, the elder brother had forgotten to close the bathroom door and after about three minutes of very silent silence, I went upstairs to find an entire roll of toilet paper unrolled across the hallway and bath toys floating in a not-flushed toilet. And I mean the really not good not-flushed variety of toilet.
This evening after a very fun but very exhausting birthday party, where I spent a good part of 2 hours chasing after a curious toddler (you’d be amazed at how many open outlets there are at a hockey rink), we all came home, took a nap, had some dinner and settled in for a quiet evening.
A little too quiet.
I sat down at my computer to catch up with my email and look at some pictures of my friends’ adorable and I’m sure always well-behaved children when I had a small moment of panic. Colin, who had been playing gleefully in on the dining room table, banging on the stool with a toy, had become very quiet. I peeked around the corner and found that he had not been banging on the stool with a toy, he had been banging on the stool with a Crayola magic marker, the regular, non-toxic, yet non-washable kind, and had managed to pull the cap off.
The floor came clean a lot faster than the toddler. Only fair that I caught him with his eyes closed in that last picture, because that’s how he caught me.
Pass the wine, please.
