Little Climbers

The first phrase I spoke was “Get down!”  I said this sternly after standing in my high chair.  No doubt I’d heard those words a few times.

Some grandparents secretly – or not so secretly – chuckle to themselves when their escapist child winds up with an escapist child, or their drama queen granddaughter is as dramatic and stubborn as their own daughter once was.  Those grandparents would be laughing at me now too.

“Get down” has been spoken frequently in our home the past thirteen years.  Also “Get off” (the counter, the dresser, the piano) and “Get out” (of the fridge, the pantry, and the dryer).

It’s a sad day for me when the baby learns to drag chairs across rooms.  Nothing is safe any longer.  HE’s not safe any longer.  This morning he climbed on a chair, stuck a knife in the toaster then smeared butter all over it.  That was a new trick.  Dancing on the table and swinging the chandelier is an old one.

All of my children have been climbers.  I’m sure many parents can empathize.  We really should organize a Parents of Climbers support group.

For now, I’m done with chairs.  I’ve stacked them in the sunroom. We’ll bring them in for dinner, or saw the legs off the table.  If you come to visit, bring a pillow.

But it’s worth it.  Someday my chairs will all stay where they belong and I’ll long for little grand-climbers to come and visit.  And I’ll chuckle as I watch my kids pull them down, off, and out.