All sorts of bewildering and amazing things happen before 6 a.m. at my house. This morning, by chance, Ren started talking in the middle of an animated dream, and I woke up. Thank goodness for the dream or we would no doubt still be asleep and Pink P would have destroyed our house. Where was my alarm clock, you ask? Pink P hid it while we slept, of course. As soon as I knew the clock was missing, I also knew the culprit. Disoriented from lack of sleep after a 3 a.m. feeding, and blind without my glasses, I stumbled from our room to Pink P's. On the way, I passed no less than five stuffed animals meticulously tucked in to beds made from random pillows and blankets gathered from throughout the house. Since the bathroom light beckoned like a beacon cutting through my grogginess and threatening to awaken me completely from my sleep, I took a detour to turn it off. There I discovered the faucet running and a cardboard box full of water and bathing Barbies. Back in the playroom, a pile of blocks covered the table and the rapidly dimming desk light highlighted three new works of art, including two of my keepsake postcards that had been turned into homemade confetti. Fortunately, on this morning, Pink P was deterred from entering the office by the readjusted lock Ren had installed at the top of the door. Before the lock readjustment, she was quite skilled at using a broom stick to undo it. In fact, the last time Pink P got into the room, she'd climbed up on the desk and used a stool (on the desk) in order to reach the top shelf where she secured Ren's new video camera in order to take pictures of her artwork. The proof of this escapade and the subsequent rifling through drawers in search of hidden treasure was captured on the video she inadvertently recorded of herself committing the crime--before killing the battery, that is.
My preliminary search failed to uncover either the missing cell phone (my alarm clock) or the 40-inch, 40-pound offender. Too tired to go on, I yelled, "Pink P! Where are you?"
"Right here, Mommy," came the sugary sweet, angelic reply from Sky's bed, where she hid under the covers next to her sleeping brother. "What's wrong?"
"Where's my phone?"
"It's right there, Mommy. I was making letters."
Sure enough she was. Numerous failed attempts at text messages to be precise. And when I finally had the phone in hand and could check the time, it was 6 a.m.