Dear Evan –
Please, be an engineer.
Right now, you’re all about tools. You so badly wanted to help your mommy and me around the house that I bought you some toy tools, which you promptly left at your Mimi and Papa’s place. What to do? Oh, use real tools.
Probably that’s not the safest choice, but you’re intact so far.
With the real tools, you’re learning how things are put together. You haven’t destroyed anything (yet), but definitely know about nails and screws, wrenches and drills. You can tell a Philips from a flat head.
This is all build-up to last night’s events. Late last week, you realized you could crawl out of bed, open your bedroom door and escape into the world. (Well, the house.) Monday night, I was surprisingly sick for me: fever, nausea, the works. Your mommy had to teach, so I was left to wrangle you while shivering uncontrollably. I think I did a good job.
Except…
Except you kept leaving your room. Eventually, I just huddled in bed and let you play, until putting you down for good around 9.
Last night, I put one of those doorknob protectors on the inside of your bedroom door, the kind that you need to squeeze at just the right angle for the knob to turn. That done, I read some books, snuggled and put you to bed. When I left your room, you protested, but I fairly skipped away at the thought of the doorknob protector keeping you in until sleep hit.
I sat on the couch, ready to veg and continue recuperating. And five minutes later, you toddled out.
That’s right: Without tools, you’d managed to take apart the safety device and get out of your room.
Hmmmm. Maybe add “Vegas magician” alongside “engineer” on your career options.
I love you,
Daddy
