Every few minutes Erika runs down the hall to see what Peter is doing. She does this more frequently when things get quiet because as all mothers know, a quiet
Now, here comes the Italian opera. This morning it's Tosca. Appropriately dramatic and tragic for the variety of tableaux that Erika is greeted with when she peeks around the door frame:
- Peter sitting innocently, *reading a book*!!!
- Peter standing with both hands on the cat, fists full of fur in each hand
- Peter STANDING on the dining room chair next to a large window, giggling
- Peter sitting calmly on a cushion, playing with daddy's sock
- Peter struggling valiantly to wiggle up onto the dining room chair, which has now been wedged between the table and the sofa to discourage mounting
- Peter sitting calmly on the sofa, looking perplexed (how IN THE WORLD did he manage to climb up there???)
sigh. This is how Erika has lost so much weight. It takes her two and a half hours just to prepare breakfast, and by then it's lunch time and she's thinking "Why bother?". We really should go back to the restrictive child gates in every room, but then Peter spends all of his time trying to climb up Mommy instead of chairs and tables. Equally hard to prepare a meal with a whining toddler attached to your leg.
So when do we get to the Can't Stop Folding Laundry stage? Or, better yet, the Obsessive Kitty Petting stage? Guess we'll find out.
Pictures. Yeah, I know. Working on it.
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