When we put him down from the dinner table, it’s a safe bet that crashes will be heard moving through other areas of the house caused by this tiny unseen force. Chairs topple over and pots come crashing out of the lower cabinets. The front door slams shut and a shoe flies across the hallway. Once in a while, a tiny, dimpled hand will appear at the table and attach to a dinner dish, yanking it from the table before any of the other diners even know what hit them.
When Mayhem is let loose in the backyard, he scales the ramp leading up to the playhouse like it’s nothing, wobbling dangerously in his desperation to beat mommy, who is sprinting across the yard frantically and wondering how he got all the way over there in 5 seconds flat. After he is returned to solid ground, wailing in disappointment, he takes off full speed to find trouble elsewhere.
The next 15 minutes will most likely be spent pulling a roly poly out of his tightly clenched fist, wiping grass out of his hair or dirt off his face, yanking him out of the way of a moving swing, and distracting him from the fire pit.
|I didn’t eat any dirt… I promise!|