My baby hides stuff he doesn’t know he’s hiding. I’m on a constant quest for phones, condiments, mail, underwear (leave that one alone, y’all). The more he thinks it’s an item someone needs, the more he wants it. For instance, the mail. This is an official something we get everyday. It’s officialness is what he’s after. Multiple times a day, he removes and replaces the mail where it falls onto the floor through the slot. You know, as he comes and goes from work.
Have you ever tried to pin your hair up, reach for bobby pins you know you just put right on the dresser, and they’re gone?
The phone is ringing. Where is it?
The ketchup you just bought? Gone. Oh, you’ll find it. He needed that in his shopping cart, you see.
At least he is now at the point where he can say, “Oh, that book you were so engrossed in? Yeah, I took that when you went to the bathroom and put it upstairs in the underbed container in my room beneath 10 shirts. Why didn’t you just ask instead of assuming you were crazy after hunting for 10 whole minutes?”
This is one of Z’s favorite toys.
When he was very little, we’d find all sorts of things in the car’s seat compartment. Whenever something small enough was missing, that’d be our first place to check. House keys were found often just hangin’ out under his butt. Before we figured it out, though, it was utterly maddening.
Lately, it’s gotten better, because if it’s not in the toy’s compartment, he can say where it is (DVD in the bathtub, for instance).
But this? This is just wrong.
And yes, I know I referred earlier to him as my baby. He’ll be three in September. Please stop making that face at me or the next time I visit your house I’ll put your popsicles in the fridge.
Or, maybe I’ll let him do this to your floor.
What? Thirty minutes! That’s what I got for allowing this to happen. At this point, on some nights? I just gotta say go on and make paste if it’ll give me 30 free minutes.