April 12, 2016
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My son is a savant at trickery…It’s probably why he is so cute; otherwise, I’d be much more angry on a regular basis. I retrieve him from his nap and we walk together toward the stairs. On hands and knees, my son demonstrates every intention of heading down without incident. Nothing sketchy or untoward about his behavior…that should have been my first clue. He’s always up to something when I’m not paying sufficient attention. Usually, I wait for him to begin the process of descending down the stairs before heading down myself, but on this occasion I take the lead only to look up at him hovering at the top of our staircase for a suspicious amount of time.
I look up at Little Man from the middle of our case, when he grins at me exposing every tooth in his perfect mouth. Within seconds my son darts up faster than I’ve ever seen him, and he sprints to our guest bedroom normally cornered off from his free and uninhibited excavation. My son slams the door amidst a chorus of boisterous laughter, leaving me to only imagine what kind of mayhem is occurring behind the door in the brief span he is alone. After a moment of shock, I begin my slow and labored climb back to the top. Once I’m able to regain leveled breathing from even this slight exertion, I retrieve him, ensuring this time he actually descends.
July 17, 2015
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Little Man can climb the stairs…Now, ask me how I know this. Taking a day off work to enjoy his family, my husband was setting up the water table we inherited…a brilliant contraption, by the way… I was on my computer typing gratifying, angry keystrokes for my group project peer participation review. My husband excitedly opens the door, requesting the presence of our son. Then, I heard it, the most horrifying sounds any parent can experience…nothing. It was completely quiet, no giggle, no panting, no obnoxious clanking and rummaging through plastic toys in a hard bin…absolutely nothing. I call my son’s name with no noise for response, and then I notice the open gate that blocks the part of the house containing our stairs. I will refrain from naming the parent who left the gate ajar as protection from a small throng of bloodlust relatives appearing on our doorstep wielding pitchforks of the old country. Upon seeing him I can’t be completely sure, as I believe I felt the initiation of a brain hemorrhage, but the likely words that escaped my lips were those that could make Howard Stern blush. Oblivious, my little man sat looking at me from the top of the stairs as though it was his turn to tend to the laundry.