It was Saturday morning and we were tired. The Gort had walked into our room shortly after 7am. Luckily he lay down on the bed and continued his slumber. The Hen arrived twenty five minutes later. ‘I get out my crib myself,’ I remember him telling me. Proudly slash defiantly. Because he has this strange habit of sitting in his crib in the morning wailing for someone to come and get him. Despite the fact that he hops in and out of his crib like a gondola driver at night.
‘I wan go down-stairs’ he pleaded. But we were too tired to move. ‘I wan eat brek-fis’ he tried again. But all we could do was make empty promises about how we’d be ‘right there’. Really, it’s the professor’s job to get up with the little people until I no longer have to get up at night. I’m guessing that might happen in 2011.
But Mr. Johnson remained immobilized so the Hen decided to go downstairs by himself. The kid is two and three quarter years old but he acts like he’s five sometimes. He wandered around the house alone for close to forty minutes.
I don’t remember any sounds from that time. I just remember waking up around 8.20 and hearing a strange clicking sound. It sounded like ‘someone’ was taking pictures with a cell phone. I groaned inwardly as I recalled the little man’s latest habit of grabbing the cell phone and hiding in the bathroom. Or behind the chair in the living room. Seconds later our home phone rings. A peek at the caller ID inevitably reveals the number of the cell phone.
I had visions of him calling all of the 5 numbers I had stored in the cell phone before 9 on a Saturday. ‘What’s that noise,’ I mumbled to the professor. ‘He’s sitting on the steps, taking pictures,’ my better half guessed.
Sure enough, moments later he ran into our room with the little point and shoot in his hands. He’d figured out how to turn it on all by himself. And he’d figured out how to take pictures. I shouldn’t be surprised, this is the kid who can randomly click buttons on the computer and end up with items like water bottles or shoes in an online shopping cart. The same kid who, a few weeks ago, opened a photo album on the computer and clicked through the pictures one by one. As though that was exactly what he’d set out to do.
Maybe it was.
Jason managed to reclaim ownership of the silver camera and, with bleary eyes,
we stared at the small screen, eager to see what ‘gems’ our Hen had captured.
More than twenty pictures….of the stairs. Pictures of the computer. A couple of pictures of his own face. Pictures of the laundry littering the upstairs hallway. The cluttered dining room.
‘He captured all our sins,’ the professor muttered.
A few minutes later I headed downstairs to survey the damage. All appeared to be in working order. Except my purse was lying in the hallway. My wallet nearly two feet away. And my lip balm in the dining room.
When I stood at the grocery store checkout line several hours later, I prayed the debit card was still inside the wallet.