Connor and Justin are the children of my mature years. Anyone who knows me is wondering exactly when did those years start. Having two boys together is a whole new adventure for me. Yesterday Justin learned how to open doors with a door knob. Combine that with being able to climb out of his crib and you begin to get the picture. Twice he came strutting into the kitchen with an adorable, look-what-I-can-do grin on his face. The third time he was returned to his crib with a swat on the bottom and stern instructions to stay in his crib. Shortly after that I found him sitting quietly in the time out corner. So, he sort of understands.
Connor is learning the gift of insincere flattery. When he wants something that I've already said no to, he tells me I'm pretty. Or that I have beautiful lips. Or that my eyebrows look nice. That's when I explain what lying means.
Apparently God thought I need something to do to keep me out of trouble. Something about idle hands being the tools of you know who. I read somewhere once that the definition of boy is a noise with some dirt on it. I am really starting to understand that. And it's just beginning.