Year 1, Day 3

Somewhere between minutes one and thirty seven of Jackson being awake in his pack and play this afternoon (while he should have been sleeping), he contrived an elaborate plan to cure his boredom and pass the time. He was quiet as a church mouse, and I had expected he was fast asleep. Note to self: silence equals trouble of some sort - don't expect it equals sleep on all occasions.

Jackson was "napping" at his Great Grammie's house today. When I set up the pack and play, I did the normal scan to be sure that all things were out of reach and all was safe. From the way it was situated in the room, the pack and play had to be against the bed . . . which was the holding ground for bags of useless things that I brought for him and actually thought he might need (like his green sparkly ball, Tad the singing frog, goodies to hold him over on a long car ride, enough diapers and wipes to survive 2 months out). With everything far from his reach, I closed the door and assumed he was exhausted from his busy morning. All was quiet in the room, so I enjoyed some down time to visit with family and friends.

It was time to wake the little angel from his sweet slumber, so I cracked open the door to walk inside. At my feet was a empty can of apple rice puffs, a particularly large can, that had been flung about the room. I was greeted by a face of shock and surprise, when I glanced in Jackson's crib to see him shoving piles of apple rice puffs into his tiny mouth. Hundreds of them blanketed the floor of his pack and play, and hundreds more were missing from the near full container that now lay empty an impressive distance away (note to self: good throwing arm?) Beside him, were other random things that confused me to no end. He had my pocketbook, and a wet diaper that he had taken off himself . . . somehow, and "Goodnight Moon." It was all very perplexing. It seemed as though there was more to the story, and that somehow I had to connect the dots between these items to fully understand what was going on here. Was he seriously old enough to jump out of his crib and collect all these things? Then, I realized, that smarty had reached over to the bed (again he is able to stretch far beyond what any normal child can extend to reach - see cupcake thievery excerpt from yesterday's blog) and he pulled the comforter towards him until he could drag in all his loot on one fell swoop.

What I learned today: When children are creepily quiet, they are either sleeping or getting into big, big trouble. Assume the latter.