The Plug

My son was getting in bed two nights ago and complained about the lights being too bright.   He was in what I'm going to call, "one of his moods" where he talks in baby talk and basically needs to be mollified and made to feel loved.  At the point he was complaining the rather dim light from the door being opened had blinded him, he said. 

The only lights he liked, he further explained, were nightlights.   And did I have any nightlights?   Like those ones I used to have in their room from years back.  I did, and they were in a drawer in the closet so I went to find some.   

Turning on the closet light sent him into a new round of cries of bright lights and ocular pain, but my search was swift and I returned moments later with a purple night light with butterflies on it.  I bent down to the outlet in the corner of his room where the laundry basket was kept and felt for the outlet guided by the light from the street lamps in the road. 

What I found wasn't the socket holes, but rather one of those plastic covers parents get when they have a child and are worried things will be poked into them and their child will be electrocuted.   Some children are inquisitive in this manner, mine were not.   Still, though, I thought we'd found all the plastic bits by now and handed them down to the next recipient of a newborn baby to their family. 

We got ours from Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Dale and they served us well for many years—too many years as evidenced by the one I found the other night.   I have it sitting on my computer here under the monitor, to remind me it's been a long time since I had toddlers relatively speaking. 

The Big Boy Update:  I visited my son just before coming to write this blog post here.   We had had a discussion with him about screen time—a common theme with him—before he headed up to bed.   I finished a long-overdue braille class submission and then I went up to say goodnight.   He and I chatted for a bit with him wanting to know about how he and his father played Minecraft together for a while today.   While I was sitting on his bed and listening I realized I was leaning back on something uncomfortable under the blankets.    I asked him what it was, suspecting I knew the answer.   He sheepishly brought out his Switch.   And then his headphones.   And then his iPad.   I laughed good-naturedly at him and he realized he wasn't in trouble—this time—so he calmly told me which ones were on the brink of dying battery-wise as I took them after giving him a warm hug and kiss on my way out. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My husband and daughter finished a large LEGO project today.   It was a bit of a challenge getting her to put the pieces together, but the effort paid off because she understands LEGO pieces and how they interact far better as a result.   The model is a working roller coaster.   My daughter was so excited to show it to me.   She could crank it around and up the initial slope and then listen to it glide all the way to the bottom again.   She showed me the fast launch and brake features as well as the cotton candy stand, ticket sales office, picture camera for in-ride photos you bought at the photo booth after your ride, pond, frog, bird, a sign that said Coaster, and many, many other features of the model.   She knows so much more because of the hours she and her father put into it together.   Next, she wants to do the Ferris wheel, she says.