Little Ethaniel keeps me on my toes. And my knees (cleaning up). And at the edge of the cliff of patience. He keeps me laughing. And sighing. And thankful.
I can clean in short bits. If I run back and check on him every few minutes while I get half a job done at a time.
This morning I went to get the dirty laundry from Luke's room (I swear I must not have washed any clothes during the month of December....there's a monster in my basement comprised of little boy shirts and jammies.....waiting to swallow me....grinning at me with his white sock teeth....). I came downstairs, hands full, to find Ethan grinning at me. A red foil mini Reese cup in his mouth (he must have just popped it in his mouth). And was quite agitated when I popped it right back out and put it in the middle of the kitchen island where he can't reach it (he's growing and getting wilier....as in that Coyote Sam let them watch over Christmas break....). He loves to get into the kitchen island and get his own snacks...mainly the yummy, cavity-inducing ones.
He gave me a "Uhhhwuuu" and threw his hands done. Skumped again.
I ran down into the basement. Dumped Luke's clothes on the floor (which the monster immediately swallowed....laughing....). Threw in a new load. Ran back up the steps. Four minutes. Tops.
To find a little chocolate face boy. Sitting at the tall bar stool chairs at the island. Hands folded.
A little red wrapper in a ball in front of him. Along with the brown paper cup (all spitty.... eeewwww).
How he climbed up into that chair which is twice as tall as he is, I can only guess (and groan).
Score one for the Coyote.