We recently changed Evelyn's crib into a toddler-sized bed. The devastation has been apocalyptic.
Every morning she wakes up and since we have a gate on her door so she won't fall down the stairs, my daughter decides to play in her room.
By play I mean destroy, kill, destroy.
A week ago, her room looked like the neatest, cleanest place in our home. After one day of her new bed and being allowed to roam freely within it, it looked like a small pack of wolves had run through. After three days, a herd of dinosaurs. After about a week of this, it looks like the valley of Megiddo will one day.
If you don't get that reference, take a class in eschatology.
Anyway, its been pretty bad.
Today, for instance, she figured out how to climb up the side of her dresser and successfully pulled her piggy bank down on top of her, along with several pictures that were neatly framed up on the top of this chest of drawers.
Of course, I was still preparing for work, but at the sound of this sonic boom I went rushing into the child's - dare we still call it a room at this point?
There she sat upon the floor, just browsing through the fallen debris, searching for whatever treasure she may have unearthed.
Someday soon, and believe me when I say its coming, she's going to learn the meaning of "clean your room."
