Kai

*I wrote this early last week.

The local jail is readying its starkest cell and warning the guards to be on alert.  Kai is being sent to a lock-up where he can't pillage, plunder or otherwise wreak havoc.  

Several little items in the household are missing and we've narrowed the culprit down to one very grubby little (or not so much little) two year old scoundrel.  What in the world Kai wants with my measuring spoons is beyond me, but he sure does have them squirrelled away somewhere.  

And then there was the big one.  He's been casing the joint for weeks now.  There have been several failed attempts at the heist that ended in tears and apologies and empty promises to "not take Owen's fings eber 'gin."  

While I was busy falling for his pleas of innocence with his disarming grin and talk of me being "boo-veal", he was busy making a more sophisticated plan of attack.

He is a master of trickery and thievery.  While Owen and I were otherwise occupied, Kai sneaked in and snatched Owen's video game and cartridges (an item he's been eyeballing since Christmas) and took the contraband somewhere only a little thief knows.  (Maybe with my measuring spoons?)  

Now that his master plan has succeeded, he's been banished to his room to "think about what he's done" or, better yet, fall asleep and wake up not a thief. 

When he's not busy lifting valuables, he's busy makes messes.  With no rhyme or reason, he goes about the house and leaves a trail of disaster in his wake.  

Cora's neatly stacked diaper bin?  Strewn from one wall of my bedroom to the other.

Cereal?  Leaving a very conspicuous trail from the kitchen, down the stairs to the toy room below.

My neatly folded laundry?  Now it isn't so neat.

And this is all before noon!

Baby-proofing is a joke.  I'm going to have to resort to Kai-proofing, which requires steel, padlocks, and booby traps.

I don't want to give off the impression that Kai doesn't have a softer side.  He does.

His lips are mighty soft and shiny.  My brand new minty lip gloss is now half gone and covering the sheets on my bed and the cheeks of his face.  The other tube has so many bite marks on it that I have several dispensing options. 

He is a crafty little bugger.  He knows that as soon as I sit down to feed Cora is the time to make a break for it.  He raids the pantry searching for the perfect snack to go with his "juicy:" that he tries to pour himself!

That never ends well.  (Cue outfit number four for the day.)


Speaking of ending, his good health and vigor might be coming to a screeching halt after a little stunt he pulled yesterday. 


I look over and he's having a moment with a pole in Goodwill.  That child is busy trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get every dread disease in Northern Virginia.


He's licking the pole!!!


In dirty old Goodwill!!!


I have no more words.  I have no more tricks up my sleeve.  I have only a wing and a prayer that I will survive him.