A Ball of Wild, a Pile of Mischief

I blogged a week or two ago about how my formerly do-no-wrong toddler son had jumped ship from sweet and innocent to wild and crazy.  Now?  He's added mischief to the mix.  With a dash of humor for good measure.

It started a few days ago when I was making dinner.  The kids were playing in the other room, generally doing a decent job mediating squabbles and as usual, making a grand mess.  I stopped mid-stir when I heard this weird clattering sound coming from the living room.  The sound was accompanied from the (decidedly delightful) eruption of my son's giggles.

So.... weird sound + laughter = well, I'm a quasi-experienced parent... and I'm fairly good at deductive reasoning so I'll clue you in just in case you're not following yet.  It equals trouble.  It's one step from hearing a loud bang followed by silence or generally, any long stretch of silence at all that does not involve sleeping children.  (Funny how the absence of sound can be more telling than a pile of noise).

Anyway, I put the spoon down and peeked around the corner into the living room.  My son was standing on the art table, sans pants. His arms were in the air and he was CRACKING up.  Moments later, I discovered what the weird noise was AND what was tickling his funny bone.

He was reaching in the color box with both hands, pulling out handfuls of crayons, and throwing them straight up into the air with wild abandon.

Oy.  

I stood there in a sort of dumbfounded awe for a few seconds which was exactly enough time for Caly to shoot a sidelong glance around the room, and, seeing no one, to climb onto the table and gleefully join Sayer in the chaos.

Apparently, there's a new ringleader in town. He's cute, he's pants-less, and he's ready to rumble. I'm so not ready for this.

(And for the record, I am STILL finding crayons in weird places).