Mr. Mischief

I was fairly certain that Drake would be the child to cause my grey hairs, with his epic meltdowns, blind rage, and fierce tenacity.  Although he does all of this, he's always been one to follow the rules (once firmly drilled into his noggin).  He always holds my hand in parking lots and on sidewalks.  He's only drawn on a non-paper surface once.  He has the proper amount of fear and respect for the escalator and the oven.  He hasn't torn up any books.  He never tried to climb out of his crib.  He won't leave his room during naptime or bedtime (not even to go to the bathroom- which is a whole separate issue).  Drake will contribute some to my grey hair collection, but he won't be the main contributor.

That honor goes to Flynn.

I've been blindsided by his happy-go-lucky demeanor and his sweet smile.  Lurking inside my sweet little boy is Mr. Mischief.  He has figured out how to climb into his brother's bed (car carrier to the train table to the bed).  He's much like a rat: if the space is big enough to get his head through, he will go through it.  I found him up the attic; I thought I had sufficiently blocked the stairs.  He seems to know which buttons on the remote to push.  We were watching "Presto" on the Wall-E DVD.   The short had just ended and went back to the main menu.  Before I could grab the remote, he pushed some buttons and "Presto" began playing again.  He clapped for himself, proud of what he had just done, and plopped back down on the couch.  He managed to record The Count of Monte Cristo.  (I can't fault his taste.)  I catch him climbing onto the end table.  When I call his name, he turns slowly to look at me, and the glint is in his eyes.  That glint lets me know he's up to something.  He's almost too charming, with those baby blues and long eyelashes. 

Both boys are smart cookies.  This is only the beginning.  They'll probably rewire the house and program all the lights to turn on and off in sync with "Big Balls."  At least life won't be dull. :)