How was your day, honey?

I wonder how toddlers play into Darwin’s survival of the fittest theory. Because surely left to their own devices the little hooligans would off themselves in a matter of hours.

I thought *ha ha ha, let me catch my breath here* that we were moving out of the toddler’s mindless rampage that curiosity combined with lack of coordination brings.

Apparently rather than moving out of that fun phase, we are simply entering a new phase of pre-school curiosity combined with crafty fox-like intellect.

Ever seen a chimpanzee use a twig to get to the best in a termite mound? They kind of poke around, take their time, try different angles – determined little buggers - and once they figure out they can get those little morsels of yuck onto their stick, they grin like, er, monkeys. That’s about how Colin looks when he uses a stool to get into all kinds of goods. Rather than termite mounds, his favorite hunting ground is the pantry and the sink. Any sink will do. As long as it has water that he can schlop all over the place.

His tastiest scores thus far from the pantry have been innumerable ‘ola (granola) bars and fruit leather. Not major offenses, but Colin adheres to the strictest of toddler survival rules – “if I touch it, its mine.” So when we catch him with his fourth snack in a row, we get to endure the other strictest of toddler survival rules – “if they take it from me, I will scream and stomp and hit and whine and be the saddest boy in the world.”

Combined with his thieving skills Colin is fast and, most dangerously, quiet. Like a freakin jaguar taking a stroll in the jungle. We are generally lucky enough that we can both get ready for work before Colin wakes up. On those mornings where he’s early to rise, Rob gets Colin dressed and takes off, and I have him play in his room until we’re ready to leave so that I can keep an ear out for him. But SOMEONE has learned that mommy can’t hear what he’s up to when the hair dryer is on. As the previous post illustrates...he winds up in some interesting places.

Last week I witnessed the results of the lethal combination of these newfound skills when I walked downstairs after collecting laundry and into the playroom to discover 16 ounces of honey spread around in all its golden glory. Dump trucks were the preferred receptacle of choice, although the TV console enjoyed a sticky shellacking as well. I think a fair amount made it into the kitchen sink, since the amount in the playroom didn’t seem to quite add up to the amount squeezed out of the brand new bottle the he filched from the pantry.

Kid knew he was busted. When I walked into the room and realized what had happened, I didn’t even get “COLIN FREDERICK!” out of my mouth before he burst into a kind of panicked wail. I couldn’t even do anything other than put him in an extended time out - I didn’t want him in my line of sight for a good while. I should have known better than to leave the vicinity for something as simple as laundry. But honey? All over the playroom? How am I supposed to even begin to guess that he would do something like that?

I felt, and still feel, very much damned if I do, damned if I don’t with this enjoyable phase. There is only so much height to our shelves and I’m not going to, I logistically can’t, hover over Colin waiting for him to get a fix for his mischief jones. So I will keep my cleaning shelf well-stocked, and rather than wonder what he might get into next, I just have to wait to see what he will discover he can get into next.