Sometimes it’s Honey, Sometimes it’s Poo

BoyWonder’s newest trick is locking himself in the bathroom.

The other day I couldn’t find him. Kept calling his name, going all over the house, figuring he was hiding somewhere. No answer. Went outside and called. No answer. Got Havarti and The Muse in on the hunt. Finally, someone noticed the light under the door of the powder room. Hmmm.

Knock knock.

Silence.

Tried the door handle.

Locked.

Called BoyWonder’s name.

Silence. Then giggle.

Little punk. Our bathrooms have those lever door handles with the push-button lock on the inside and the stupid little hole on the outside that you can never seem to find anything narrow enough to fit in. He was dead set against opening the door, so I finally got a large paperclip and unfolded it to unlock the darn thing.

I opened the door, and there was my little angel, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, eating straight out of the tortilla chip bag.

This scenario was repeated the next day, but the bag of chips was replaced with a loaf of bread.

And then again today. With a 32 oz. container of honey.

HONEY.

Can you see why I’ve been a bit slow on the blogging lately?

Before he figured out this genius way to get to eat whatever he wants, he was taking whatever he wanted from the fridge or the pantry and hiding in the schoolroom. One day things were awfully quiet, and I found him squatting next to the box of scissors – which he had used to open (and subsequently eat) seven yogurt squeezers from the box we had just purchased.

Resourceful little bugger. I really do feed the kid. I promise.

So then tonight on the way to bed, he went into the bathroom and actually wanted to sit on the toilet. (The potty training process has been painfully slow around here, so any willingness to use the commode is celebrated mightily.) But then he also wanted me to go out and shut the door. So, not wanting to ruin this moment of independence, I did.

Click.

Little punk. So I start yelling  asking him in my sweetest mommy voice to please unlock the door, but he somehow, in his 3-year-old way, convinces me that it’s all going to be alright. “It’s okay, Mama. Just wait. It’s okay.”

Um, yeah. I have a bath mat full of honey that proves it’s very very likely NOT okay, sweetums.

But I waited. And after a few minutes, he opened the door to show me his surprise: a log in the toilet. He pooped! In the commode! All by himself!

(Side note to God: Please please please let this stick. I’m so over diapers.)

So now I’m never going to know whether he’s being a sneaky little food swindler or a big boy using the can if that door is locked. At least we now keep an alan wrench (or is is allen wrench?) near the bathroom so we can rescue him and whatever groceries he’s swiped more easily.

Never a dull moment round these parts. 🙂

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