The other day, Caleb was standing by his toy box pulling out toys and having a good old time, so I went out to the living room to get some other cleaning done. I heard him grunting and making some weird noises, admittedly, but no whining, no crying, so I didn't think much of it. A few minutes later, I walked in to check on him and this is what I found:
All on his own, he found his way into his toy box...and life was good.
3 comments:
Cute Kid! Welcome to the blogging world!
This picture reminded me of something my older sister did to me when I was Caleb's age. After searching and not being able to find me in the entire house, my mother would ask my sister, "Where is Steven, Sarah?" She responded coolly and without any shame, "He's hiding," not even looking up from the toys with which she was playing. "And where is Steven hiding?" Still playing my sister responded, "In our room." Now my mother was confused. "I just checked your bedroom and I didn't see Steven." Sarah finally gave in to the brutal and unceasing interrogation. "That's because he’s hiding in the toy box." She had shoved me in the toy chest, for crying out loud—the jealous punk! Compared to a one-year-old, the chest was huge with a heavy wooden door that closed from the top and could not be pushed open by Little Steve. Thanks to the Force and the Olympic gods, I didn't run out of air...although I now live with a dreadful fear of toy chests.
Beautiful people, fun kid! Love you all! xoxoxo - Mom
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