28 months old
April 25, 2007
Last year he perfected his swing:
This year, it is his pitching:
Isn’t there any college that wants a 28 month old? Military school? Gypsies?
I would write a loving update about him and this 28th month of life. But I am too busy just trying to keep up with him.
Making sure he doesn’t exercise his newly discovered Houdini-like ability of unlocking deadbolts and escaping from the confines of the house.
Washing the bathroom floor and walls with the toilet brush dunked in the unflushed toilet.
Replacing the thousand books his tossed out of the bookcase.
Cleaning up the bag of pretzels he dumped into the tupperware drawer.
Pondering if you can still call them toys if you have them all stored above your children’s reach, or have they become decorations.
Stupid decorations. Unless one can artfully arrange castle blocks, board books with the covers torn off, matchbox cars, and three large tubs of Tinkertoys.
Cleaning up the laundry that he “helpfully” removed from the dryer, while it was still wet and tossed around the laundry room, mixing it up with the dirty clothes and muddy shoes.
All of the above in the past 15 minutes.
It really is a good thing he is so cute. Just when I am on the verge of stapling him to the floor so he will sit still for a minute, he flashes me those dimples and I melt.
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