Mischief

    The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind
    and another
    his mother called him "WILD THING!"...

 -Quote from the children's book Where the Wild Things Are

Trying to figure out how to reach the cord for his stereo

I find myself muttering the word, "mischief" a lot these days. Elijah climbing or teetering on the edge of the couch, pulling his stereo off of the shelf, or kicking toys around the house to use them as stepping stools are common occurrences these days.

It reminds me so much of the book, Where the Wild Things Are.

Pure mischief.

The thing is, mischief is a good thing. I keep reminding myself of this. Elijah is in another exploration mode, trying to figure out how things work, how his body moves, and even how we will react when we find him in mischief.

The other night, Elijah climbed into bed, stood up and starting jumping - all while looking in our direction to see what we would do.

Mischief!

Sitting with Andy on the couch after Elijah was in bed, I had an epiphany. "I feel like we're going through the terrible twos with Elijah," I said. The terrible twos at four, that is.

"I just hope we don't get stuck in this phase for a really long time," Andy said. We sat in silence, both realizing that this parenting journey hasn't always been easy. We experience the same things a lot of parents do, it's just that the phases often come later and often last longer. And, yes, that can be hard sometimes.

With that said, it is a blessing too. We rejoice, momentarily, in the mischief ("Wow, Elijah was able to see the cord to the stereo, wonder what would happen when he pulled it, and bring his boombox crashing to the ground!"), before we move forward with stopping the behavior.

So, yes, I'm going a little crazy as Elijah gets into seemingly constant mischief. And I continually rejoice over the fact that he is able to get into mischief at all.  Sometimes the baby in the NICU flashes before my eyes and I remember where we've been.

Watching him climb on a chair to try and touch his boombox seems like a miracle. And, really, it is.

As is the boy we call our son.

"I didn't do it"

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