Cat's Away the Mice Will Play

Chris is our cat and he's in Fort Worth for work.  Upon his return he'll be working odd hours the rest of the week for firearms qualifications, then he'll be in school this weekend, followed  by a trip to Corpus Christi for a Conference.  I hear that we'll see him again a week from Thursday and then two days later will be Cayla's birthday party! YIKES!

We have two mice.  Cayla is the sweet "Minnie" type mouse, who is usually very kind, and entertains herself well (and always has).  Tate is our mouse who would chew through the electrical cords, eat the bottom out of your favorite breakfast cereal box, and use all of his resources (risking his life) to steal just a bite off the poison from the mouse trap.  For some unknown reason, the bumps, bruises, and bloodshed always seem to be worth the prize he's eying.  I used to think that he might not be very smart, seriously, why would he continue to torture himself this way?  Then I realized that maybe one day his persistence will pay off and possibly be one of his most best qualities.  Hopefully. *sigh*

The boy is driven.  It became apparent to me the other day, while giving him a bath, when he was trying to stack a baby wash bottle and a shampoo bottle.  He keeps trying and with no success.  I even tell him he can't do it and it's not going to work.  He keeps at it, adjusting the bottom bottle in the corner of the tub, to the point where he can put the baby wash on top and let it tilt back, resting against the corner wall.  He then raised his hands in the air and yelled "I DID IT, MOMMY!".  Sure enough, I should have known not to place limits on his capabilities.

Last night Suz and I watched the Amazing Race while Cayla and Tate played.  Presumably they played together (which they are getting much better at), but of course that would have been too easy.  Half way through "The Race" we hear Tate cry out.  It doesn't resemble a "hurt cry", but rather a louder whine.  I call for him to come see me, and then I hear the "hurt cry".  He's usually pretty tough, so I know it's more serious - possibly even bloodshed.  We meet up with a boy who has something on his right eye.  Suz questions if it's blood, but then we catch a whiff - FINGERNAIL POLISH!  He's painted his upper and lower eye lids with brown polish and a little must have gotten in his eye as well.  No pictures, I was a bit scared.  I get some polish remover and Suz gets a wet washcloth.  I use the remover and she goes behind me with the wash cloth.  He didn't like any of this.  It seemed to burn his skin and his eye.  We get 95% of it clean and are letting the area right along the edge of his eye lid wear off on its own.    I had just used this polish an hour earlier and I'd purposely placed it further back on the bathroom counter.  Unbeknownst to me Tate knows that you just stand on the cabinet shelf to reach things on the bathroom counter.

I must say he looks pretty good today, even if he does have a "Gotch Eye" and two bruises on his nose (from a spill he took in Target on Saturday). 

Quotes:

Cayla: Hey mom where's the special cleaning spray? Tate wrote on the couch again.  I think it says "DOVE" on it?
Me:  Sweetheart that's hairspray.
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Tate's Teacher:  You know that boy's resourceful, he and his friend Gage are the only two who can escape our class room.  We have the safety knobs, and they learned that by each holding one side they could open the door.  After a few days of that they've learned to each open it alone.  None of the other kids are even interested in the knob (knowing it has a safety cover), but those boys will not leave it alone. You guys must have those same kind of knobs, because he's really good at them.

Me:  No, we don't have them, but we need something like that.

Tate's Teacher:  Well, don't waste your money on those, he's too good at them. 

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Cayla:  Mom can you open my powerade?
Me: Yeah, bring it here.
Cayla: I asked Tate to, but he wouldn't.
*In comes Tate drinking a powerade that he apparently opened himself*

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Me: Cayla why is the floor so sticky?

Cayla: I cleaned it with the hair cleaning spray.
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*Garage Door Slams*
Me: Cayla is that you?
Cayla: Is what me?
Me: Did you go outside?
Cayla: No, it was just Tate coming in.
Me: WHAT?
Cayla:  He got the box of capri suns out of the fridge out there. 

He's now learned how to open the fridge as well (and I've seen him scale the shelves to reach things up high just as he can climb his dresser drawers to reach and remove all of the baby wipes).

As of last night, he's not yet learn how to unlock doors (nor can he even reach the locks), but when he does, what's next?


From the sounds of this it appears that I'm never around, but trust me this boy is QUICK!  What would he think if I loaded him up in a baby backpack and just wore him around every evening?  That would seriously be the ONLY way to keep him out of trouble (and even then he'd probably put gum in my hair).