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T-R-O-U-B-L-E

I never thought that having a son would be that much different than having a daughter and it really wasn’t …until he started moving. I think I have half the amount of mixing bowls I once had, since Joel started being able to climb and pull.

He will find a way to get what he wants. Just give him a few moments alone and some drawer pulls to climb. The picture above is one such moment.

I was downstairs folding some laundry right before I needed to pick up Abigail from school. I come upstairs to get Joel and Lydia ready to go and there I find him plastered in JIF. (Notice not a trace of peanut butter on his face.)

Last summer, he wanted my pan of brownies. He ended up in the E.R. since the brownie pan broke and cut his little hands. (Note to self: put food out of sight.)

Then there is the fearlessness. Like the one time we were at the playground and he just walked off the step where the monkey bars were. Did he not realize there was a three foot drop? Did he assume I can run like lightning and catch him at a moment’s notice?

There was another time we were at a friend’s house. They live in town right across the street from a popular park. The adults were in the kitchen and our kids were playing in the front room. About fifteen minutes passed and our friend’s daughter comes in the front door. She says “Someone just brought Joel to me in the park and asked if he was my son.” Apparently Joel had walked out the front door, crossed the street and was going to play at the park.

I think I get Mom of the Year Award for that one. I’m sure there will be more stories and E.R. visits to come from my little peanut butter prince.

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