We're going camping this weekend. The kids, bouncing around the house, oozing excitement, gradually got on my nerves to the point where I finally decided to give them the packing list. Why not put some of that extraordinary energy to good use?
I trapped Bean in the living room with me, so the kids could get on with their work unimpeded by a small person who joyfully unpacks everything they pack with as much chaos and alacrity as a hurricane.
The gross unfairness of this plan became manifest when Bean figured out that Curly and Mister were going up and down the stairs, and in and out the front door without him. He let his opinion be known in ear-splitting high-decibel shrieks that I'm sure could be heard down the street.
I told him that he would get to go camping too, and this incarceration was only temporary. He would have none of it. There was fun to be had right now, and he was held against his will by a mean, cold-hearted Mommy and a big, long plastic fence.
The only respite he got for his trouble was a nap.
It stinks to be the littlest one.