While I was downstairs starting some laundry earlier (I know, I know, but I wasn’t carrying baskets or anything, only moving clothes from washer to dryer) I noticed that peculiar silence that sends off danger bells in any Mama with a two-year old.
“Eric?! Where are you?” No answer. Eerie quiet.
He was downstairs with me and Jeffrey, playing in the play room- but he’s not there anymore. I waddle upstairs (screaming ligament/groin pain- the baby has dropped) calling his name. No answer. My voice gets a little sharper, “Eric, where are you- tell Mama right now!”
As I enter his room, he is under his bed, and I see his little hands poking out, and his shiny little eyes and pink cheeks- he is peeking out at me, looking very proud of himself and a little sheepish at the same time. “What’re you doing?” I ask.
From under the bed he pulls a blue cardboard box and some wax paper wrappers, proudly showing me “My have BUTTER mama!” He had helped himself to a pound of butter from the ‘fridge and had unwrapped them and begun to have a little… snack…under his bed. His cheeks and chin were all glossy with butter, but only one of the sticks actually had bites taken from it yet.
It was impossible not to laugh. Sometimes I wish I could go hide under the bed with a pound of butter, too. We have to get a ‘fridge lock. Today.