He pushes chairs to counter tops so he can climb up into the kitchen sink or rummage foods stored out of reach. He powders himself with pancake mix, candies himself in sugar, and... dumps... dumps... dumps... whatever he can open. I have found myself on the floor far too often this week picking up infinite numbers of discrete food items... pasta pieces, pistachios, cheerios, one-by-one-by maddening one...When I'm on that floor picking up those tiny pieces of food, I sometimes imagine that I can feel my vocabulary diminishing on account of the mind-numbing futility of my labor.
His adventures aren't limited to the kitchen, either, he disorganizes everything from bedroom to bathroom. The phrase "out of reach" doesn't have much meaning around here anymore. He doused himself with half a bottle of hand soap on Monday and Wednesday he came to me in the kitchen looking as though he had soaped himself again. A little sleuthing, and I learned that sticky glop in his hair was not soap but hair gel. He had schlicked the upstairs bathroom with it as well. Yes, the whole bathroom.
When I try to prevent him from getting into trouble, or try to take him out of trouble, or clean him up from having been in trouble, he acts as though I am the offending party. He fights me with all his strength and becomes incensed. If he is awake and not cuddling with me in my arms, we are at war. That is, until I declared amnesty...
Regular readers will remember that someone in this house had accidentally packed some overdue library books a few weeks back. They were considerably overdue to start with, so by the time I unpacked them I had received a fair number of notices from the fine public facility we had borrowed them from. In my shame and unwillingness to face the music, I had simply been collecting these notices--unopened--on my desk. I told myself I would call the library and explain my situation, maybe bargain to have my fines cut in half, but I never called. So the fines and the stack of notices grew with each passing day.
Yesterday, Nicholas discovered these notices. I suppose he thought someone needed to open them and he was the man for the job. He opened every one and spread the papers and envelopes all over the floor. Of all the things!
As I was picking up the mess, I tried not to look at the notices. I didn't want to see the return address and the name of that fine library that had been so good to us, but where we had lost favor. I didn't want to see the fines...(Ooup, there they are...wow.) I did not want to look at what I had been avoiding, thank you, Nicholas.
I couldn't help but see, though, that there was a highlighted sentence on each notice. Was it a threat of some sort? I couldn't help but read...what's this?
DECEMBER IS FINE FREE MONTH FOR ALL ITEMS RETURNED BETWEEN DEC 1, AND DEC 31.Rejoice! I never would have read that if it weren't for Nicholas. I would have persisted in my state of denial well into the new year! And so I've decided to forgive Nicholas, as I will be forgiven, for repeated acts of irresponsible and unreasonable behavior.
When I told my dear husband about what had happened he asked, "So, are you going to return those books today?"
"What?" I replied, "Why? I have until the 31st."
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