Thursday, October 21, 2010

Mt. Stairmore

This morning, I was putting on my special orange socks in our room. They’re special because they’re orange.

Suddenly, I heard a crash and a shriek from the bottom of the stairs. I ran, naked except for a single orange sock, to the shrieking. I found Luca trapped under a fallen baby gate. He had pulled down the one protecting the bottom of our stairs. He wasn’t hurt, but angry because he couldn’t crawl out from under it. I paused for a moment, marveling at just how much he looked like a bug caught under a fly swatter.

I was not surprised at his accident. Because for the last week or so Luca has been obsessed with our stairs. Or as I like to call them, “Mt. Stairmore.”

No amount of blockade can keep this kid from climbing the stairs. He simply MUST climb them. Why? Because they’re there.

So last Saturday, after unsuccessfully attempting to block his path to the stairs with sandbags, barbed wire and an electric fence, I gave up.

“You want to climb the stairs so badly? Go ahead. See if I care.” Reverse Psychology 101.

He got a steely look in his eye. And he mounted Mt. Stairmore. I acted as Sherpa. Which meant placing my hand two inches away from his bottom in case he decided to fall backwards (Hence my motto, “not on my watch”).

After a while, a long while, he made it to our landing. “You did it!” I said, “Now we can all go on with our lives. I think Angelina Ballerina is on TV.”

But no. He wasn’t done. He was going full staircase.

The second set of stairs was far more difficult. Yes, because it is roughly twice the distance as the ones leading to the landing. But now, there were interested parties.

I’m sure climbing your first set of stairs is tough enough. But imagine doing it with your three year old brother screaming in your face, “LUCA! YOU’RE CLIMBING THE STAIRS!” Add to that a massive black dog whose tail just happens to be at perfect face-whacking height.

He stopped halfway up the second set and caught his breath. “It’s ok, buddy. You’ll get him next time.” I patted him oh so patronizingly on the head.

But then in a spurt that would’ve made Jon Krakauer proud, he scaled the last few feet to the summit. I proudly opened the baby gate and we all cheered.

I then scolded us all for waking up mommy so early on a Saturday.

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