Telling time

This weekend, Landon and I made the trip from Virginia to Pennsylvania (or as Landon says, "Pennsylane-ya") to visit some of my extended family. Driving up was a long trip. Made longer by the fact that Landon insists on listening to the same songs over and over. And over. If I had to hear the "Boom boom" song one more time, I think I was going to shoot someone. But, we finally got there just in time for naptime. Or, what should have been naptime.

One wonderful thing about my house is child locks. I have learned that they are not made as much for keeping Landon out of rooms as they are for keeping him in rooms. Like his bedroom. If he can't get out, he has no choice but to take a nap. The family friends we were staying with live in a 100 year old house with those beautiful crystal doorknobs. I learned quickly that those doorknobs are not only pretty to look at, but very easy to open. My little escape artist kept popping out of his room to "investigate." After being with him in the car for seven hours, I just wanted him to take a nap so I could have five minutes of downtime. I finally showed him the clock in his room and told him that if the first number said "two" or "three" he was not to leave his room. I figured this would work, and went down to the living room to collapse.

Five minutes later I heard the thump of Landon getting out of bed, and soon he appeared at the top of the stairs. By this point I was livid, and snapped at him, "Landon, I told you that if that number was a two or three you were to stay in that room!"

"My mom, not a two or three."

I carried him into the room and plunked him down in front of the clock, prepared to show him again that he had time to go before naptime was over. But he was right. There was not a two or three on the clock. Because he had unplugged it.