Mischief: Gym time, Computer, and forty-eight

Yes, we adore our little fellow. But I have to admit that we have a little mischievous one on our hands. A few stories to illustrate . . .

Gym Time
Yesterday we went to the gymnastics club for Toddler time. They have a warehouse size room full of padded walls, padded floors, and every kind of safety precaution for little kids to literally bounce off the walls. It was a great time together--I really enjoyed playing with David on all of that equipment. We were there with other toddler friends and their moms, and it seemed that the other moms actually got to chat with each other. I found it humorous that stopping to chat was not even an option for me. (I really didn't mind . . . I was having too much fun playing with my son, which is why I was there. I just found it humorous that standing around to chat wasn't even an option for me. None of their kids found the "opportunities" David seemed to find.) David managed to find a way to reach the open window (imagine piles of gymnastics pads, stacked to different heights ranging from 1 foot to 8 feet in the air).

He managed to find the only place in the whole gym where you could get wedged between the pads and the wall. He kept wanting to act like a bowling pin for the kids swinging on the rope (and he thought it would be fun . . . if only he could finally get the chance to stand there while they swung out). In short, he was everywhere in that huge gymnastics arena. And I was right behind him--only not quite as agile at getting myself up the stacks of gymnastics mats.

Computer
Our laptop has had its own experience with Toddler Time. David loves to push the buttons, open the CD drive, and has been known to pop the keys off whenever he can get a little leverage under them. Have you ever tried to piece back together the missing keys of a keyboard?

Forty-eight
Two years ago, Target opened its doors to the Anchorage market. It was Target frenzy here, to say the least! Have you ever seen live bands playing in the men's section of the local Target? Well that's the kind of excitement we had going on with a new retail giant on our doorstep. I was sucked in to the frenzy, and on its second day open I went to "check out Target" with a co-worker. I was determined not to buy anything . . . unless it was too good of a deal to pass up. I held true, and my friend Judy and I were the only ones in the entire store just browsing without even a shopping cart.

Then I saw the ottoman. It was exactly what I wanted for my living room, and it was 50% off as the one-time deal for the store's grand opening. There was only one left. Judy sat on it while I went to find a cart to haul it away. As we put it in the cart, I pointed to a slight scratch on the surface. She said, "Well, aren't you planning to have kids?" Yes, of course. "Then that scratch is nothing!" Hmph. Having kids doesn't have to mean your entire house is destroyed.

Fast forward to last month. I was in the shower, and David was left for a few minutes while I was indisposed. As usual, as soon as the shower water turned off, I called his name and asked him to come knock on the bathroom door. It's our routine--so I know he's in the vicinity and we can chat through the door while I finish dressing. I heard him come up the stairs . . . a little slower than usual, then we had our usual chat. When I opened the door, I was shocked when my son handed me my sharpest 8 inch fillet knife. Yikes! I didn't know he could reach inside of the top drawer in my kitchen! I checked for any cuts or pokes. Nothing. Phew! We escaped that one.

Twenty minutes later, I wandered downstairs to put the knife away. I happened to glance over at the ottoman, and I gasped because it looked something like a crime scene. I counted the number of stabs into the ottoman. Forty-eight.

My reaction? Gratitude. Total and complete gratitude that he didn't shred my couches. Even more gratitude that he still had his fingers, toes, eyes, and tongue. I can still hardly believe that he escaped without a drop of blood on him.

Now David spends my shower time in his crib with a handful of books to read to Mr. Giraffe.