Tweedledum and Tweedledumber

It had all the makings of a perfectly wonderful evening. The Husband was across town at a Halloween party and couldn't be expected until the wee hours of the morning. The Toddler was sleeping soundly in her warm, cozy crib, with visions of cinnamon raisin bread, Dora, and baby dolls dancing in her head. The Dogs were locked downstairs, far from my feet and hands. I had the remote in hand, promises of full TV control floating in front of me. I had an entire bed all to myself, if only for a few hours. All I needed to do to make the evening perfect was find The Toy.

The Toy was an unidentified stuffed toy belonging to one super-stinky bulldog. It was hidden somewhere in the bedroom, somewhere out of sight. But I knew it was there; I could smell it. It was the odor of bulldog slobber mixed with bulldog stench mixed with god knows what. It was the odor of a toy that she had spent hours gently gnawing, slowly suckling, infusing with her dragon breath. It was the odor that would not let me relax for even a moment. I tore apart the room, stripping the bedding from the bed, tossing the laundry to and fro, even lifting the mattress to see if it was below. It was nowhere to be found. And yet, my nose continued to remind me. It was there. In that room.

An hour passed before I located the source of my aggregation, carefully shoved into a crevice behind the nightstand. I stomped downstairs, out onto the deck, and tossed The Toy into the darkness far below. A few minutes later, I snuggled deep into the suddenly big bed and gleefully reached for the remote.

"Woof"

"Woof. Woof."

"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!"

I listened closely between each rude intrusion for a sound that would tell me the reason for the madness. Was The Husband home early? Was there an intruder? Did the neighbor three doors down blink? I didn't hear anything worth the commotion.

"WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!"

For hours. And hours. And hours. As I lay awake, not watching TV, not enjoying the partial night with a bed to myself, I heard nothing that warranted the cacophony of sound from below. I waited, anticipating a knock on the door. A policeman, perhaps, to tell me that the dogs would need to be silenced. If he would have just had the kindness to appear at the door, I would have had the opportunity to say, "What dogs? Those aren't my dogs? Oh my goodness, who let two dogs into my house? Please, take them away! I can't have dogs in my house!" But no, the police did not have the compassion to appear.

The good news is that they didn't wake up The Toddler. If they had, there surely would be two less pets living in our house today.

Destroying Things One Step at a Time

Take a guess at what is in that child's mouth . . . Is it:

A) One of them new-fangled fancy candy cigarettes.
B) The bullet she plans to use to shoot me with when I won't let her stay out past 9:00 on a school night.
C) Another toy from Fisher Price that's chock full of fun (and lead).
D) A large bolt from her crib.

Um, yeah. It's a bolt. That she found, unscrewed, yanked out, and then cheerily chewed on until I ripped it from her grubbly little hands.

Some thoughts:

--Furniture that is generally used for climbing, jumping, running, and sleeping is best held together with all of its parts.

--I'm pretty sure that a one-year old should not be able to loosen and remove a three-inch bolt from her crib. I am not the Household Master of Assembly, but it does seem to me that these things should be a wee bit too tight for that sort of activity.

--WHY IS ALEXIS TRYING TO DESTROY ALL THINGS RELATED TO HER BED?

RIP to One of Martha Stewart's Friends

Alexis has given all indications that she is ready for a big girl bed for a while now. I, however, am not ready for that milestone. Every time I think of her sleeping in a bed with an accessible escape route, I think of her wandering downstairs, standing on the kitchen counter eating cinnamon raisen bread in the middle of the night. She does it during the middle of the day when I turn away for a millisecond, surely she would take to wandering the house appeasing her every unfulfilled desire if left to her own devices.

I'm all about the compromise, so I gave Alexis a big girl pillow in her crib to tide her over for a little while. This occurred maybe two weeks ago. Last night, I went to put her to sleep and discovered this:

I don't know if you can tell from the picture, but that is one seriously shredded pillowcase. It was a brand new pillowcase devoid of any rips, tears, or loose threads when she got hold of it. What is going on here? Do all toddlers turn on their bedding like that? Or just this one?