You know it’s not a good sign when your child has had more sleep than you.
There, I’ve finally acknowledged it —the family room is no longer; it has been overrun by a deceptively small, sweet-faced, impish dictator. Nothing is sacred in that room . All objects not currently in the rotation of favored playthings get summarily tossed over the gate in to the back hall. This includes every single pillow. I swear, if the kid could heft the sofa cushions over the gate those would be history as well!
In a moment of mingled courage, naivete, and stupidity, I dash upstairs to shinny into my jeans and pull on a sweatshirt; no time for glamour while there’s a curious little boy on the loose. But, really, I think to myself, once he’s cleared out the room, what could he possibly get into? I take the extra minute or two to select a pair of socks and grab my sneakers to put on while I sit at my computer and pull my email.
The skin on the back of my neck begins to tingle; my mommy-sense is picking up on an unfamiliar vibe. It’s too quiet. I look over the railing from my office space in the loft. My heart kicks into overdrive as I race down the stairs.
Nikolas has staged a coup upon my sanity and forever shattered my already fragile sense of peace. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry; I do neither. Instead, I do what every self respecting mother of a child teetering on the brink of dumbfoundingly cute danger —mild, but danger none the less—would do; I grab my camera.
ETA: This is a re-enactment. No children were hurt in the photographing of these events. And, no, I didn’t let Nik re-enact the part where he actually tried to climb up yet another level to get things off the top off the entertainment center!