Yesterday morning, as Buzz was embracing me in a cherubic hug, I made the mistake of wondering if he was finally outgrowing his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad 3’s. Abby has actually been in more trouble than he has recently. Maybe he’s calming down in his old age, I dreamed. He will be 4 in exactly 11 days, it’s time.
Then the afternoon happened.
While Abby was taking her nap and after everyone’s lunch, I was recharging my batteries on the couch when I noticed it was quiet. Possibly too quiet. The scene I found when I peeked in on Buzz simply reassured what I really already knew.
After stripping the sheets from my bed and shredding a pink crayon into a hundred small pieces scattered throughout, he emptied every article of clothing out of the dirty clothes hamper and tipped it upside down. Bouncing on the basket, carefree in the face of danger, a picture was knocked from the wall. Luckily, it landed on the mattress and nothing was broken.
“Oops, sorry.”, he offered. “It’s OK, but please stop.”, I reassured, because it was. If there’s one thing Buzz has taught me it’s to pick my battles. No damage done. I cleaned up his mess and went back for another attempt at serenity, now. Within seconds, however, I heard a light-hearted scream for help.
There he was, stuck in the storage compartment of the bedside table. Laughing like he was rather proud of himself, feet flailing by his head. Naked.
No, not outgrowing anything. Same old Buzz.