Wednesday, March 30, 2011

How low can you go?

Though it wasn't the original floor plan, our house was a duplex when we bought it. In the process of making the house back into a single family home, the living room has ended up on the upper floor.  At the top of the stairs there is a glass-paned door that opens onto the room. For some reason the boys love to play right inside the door. What this means on a very practical level is that when I enter the living room I usually step on small plastic objects that hurt like nothin' else when trod upon. I'm sure this is some kind of payback from the days when my father claimed my Fisher Price people procreated during the night then spread themselves around the house just to injure him. But I digress. I have learned to enter the room carefully. I suspiciously survey my passing before I take the first step off the stairs. And still I frequently fall prey to the ninja-like toys waiting to fell me.

Today, after making multiple trips up and down the stairs to bring the boys beverages, refreshments and accompany them to the restroom, I finally did what I should have done earlier. I asked them to pick up their toys out of this specific location. It really wasn't an unreasonable request.  See, they weren't using them. The boys were on the sofa on the other side of the room. I also had some leverage to ensure compliance with my request. I was on the way downstairs to get fresh hot slices of homemade banana bread.

It was not surprising when I returned that the toys were picked up. I thanked the boys and distributed the baked goods. My feet were no longer in peril.  Not long later I made another trip downstairs. When I came back up, Big Dog was building his Darda track. Guess where. Yep, right in front of the stairs.

On my next trip downstairs, I carefully stepped over the abandoned track then paused, "Hey, Big Dog, could this find another home? Can you move it over there?" I asked, indicating a free spot on the floor several feet from the door.
"Why?" he asked, naturally inquisitive and also not inclined to move things if I don't have a good reason.
"Because I just asked you to pick up your toys so I could go up and downstairs to fulfill your every food and drink related requirement, and you did.  But then you just go ahead and set a booby trap!" I say as I head down the stairs.

I think I'm about five steps down when I hear the snickering. I immediately know what he's thinking.
"You know that doesn't mean it has anything to do with boobies!" I shout back up the stairs. And the snicker turns to laughing. I'm pretty sure he doesn't believe me.

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