Yesterday, after another deafening silence, I began to search the apartment: Emma’s jumper – unoccupied, the video closet – safe, the computer – untouched, the pantry goodies – uneaten, our closet – empty, our bathroom – undisturbed, or so I thought. And then . . . I heard something stirring behind me. There he was busily gulping down his toothpaste, standing in our sink, with the most satisfied, mischievous grin I have ever seen. You may ask: How did he do it? To which I can only offer an educated guess. Based on the squashed state of our magazine basket, I would say that he used the basket to reach the toilet. Somehow from the toilet he got onto the counter, perhaps using the toilet paper roll as a step, and of course from the counter he proceeded into the sink. Despite the fact that this was all very dangerous and I probably should have disciplined him immediately, being the fabulous mother that I am, my first reaction was to chuckle and run for the camera. Thanks to my insensitivity we now have evidence of his mischief for posterity.
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