I've often heard that the second half of the year is the most challenging, and boy are my boys proving that point lately. They are one and a half now (more accurately, they are 21 months, or 20 months if you go by their "corrected" age) and they are Trouble with a capital "T." I don't remember the princess being this mischievous at this age, but maybe I've just conveniently blocked it out. Or maybe it's just that, being twins, they have a permanent partner in crime. The rule of thumb seems to be if it's there to be gotten into, they get into it. If it's available to be climbed on, it's scaled in a nanosecond. If there are buttons to be pushed...
You get the idea.
We have set up what we call "baby jails." There is indoor baby jail in the living room which provide the boys a safe place to play inside, and my parents surprised me by popping by one day and putting up some garden fencing around our outdoor play area (they were probably horrified by my tales of chasing one toddler to the back door only to look up to find the other at the driveway). Either way, now the kids have safe places to play in.
And with that apparently comes their next mission... how do I escape?
We joke that I must have watched one too many episodes of "Prison Break" in the wee hours of breast feeding the boys, because Thing One, the older twin, is like Houdini. Any kind of barricade is good for about a day or so, then suddenly, wham! He's broken out, on the other side, hands in the air, looking at me like, "Hey! Did you see what I just did? Wasn't it so cool?" And the princess is screaming that he's in her room, picking up her hamsters or touching her stuff again, while Thing Two is totally absorbed in his Matchbox cars and could care less.
And SNEAKY. My boy Houdini doesn't just hop the fence at any old time. He waits for a prime opening, like when I'm smack in the middle of changing Matchbox car boy's diaper. Now, after three little ones I'm an old diapering pro, but I'm not magic. Somehow he's got it down to a science to the exact moment I'm too far in the middle of changing to stop him, plus he's QUIET. He's got the upper body strength of a six year old and before I know it, I hear the tell-tale scraping sound of his favorite off-limits item- the broom.
Yup, the broom.
The child just lives to pretend to clean. All he wants to do is sweep the floor (when he's not terrorizing his sister). How can I deprive him of that small joy? So the gates of baby jail open. Until he starts scaling the kitchen counters. Then we're back to where we started.
One of the things I've found lately that keeps everyone happily playing (inside the gates of baby jail) is a game I picked up from the good people at the zoo. Yes, the zoo. They have a little exhibit called "Our Big Backyard" and in it is something called the "Creativity Corner." It was there my little tykes spent TWO HOURS playing with- I am not making this up- a whisk and a wooden spoon. The princess explored more aspects of the exhibit and played with more of the musical instruments and things but the boys were happy to be entertained with the "kitchen" box of playthings... things that I keep not six feet from where they play in baby jail everyday. Now, thanks to my parents, we have a zoo membership, so it's not like we paid big money for them to play with kitchen utensils, but still... it drove me a little batty. So, needless to say, when we got home, I rounded up my own box of kitchen playthings that I put out every once in awhile (which Monk does not understand- "They have toys" he says. "Why are you giving them your potato masher?" I wish I understood the allure myself, I think) and they are happy to mix, mash, and bang away to their heart's content.
Until Houdini slips past me again...
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