P has pulled all the VHS tapes out of their hidden corner of the entertainment center. What's so fascinating about them, I'm really just not sure. Although I *am* grateful neither he nor M has discovered the ribbons of film that lay inside them, waiting to be pulled out and strung all around the house. I'm sitting with J in my lap, trying to convince P that I'm serious about a time out if he doesn't put all the tapes away RIGHT.NOW, but he's too smart for that, he knows as long as J is in my lap, he is safe from any punishment, other than a stuffed monkey thrown in his direction out of frustration. (and even that won't happen, because he has hidden the monkey. too smart.) He hops his way around the living room, bouncing out a laugh everytime he lands, always staying close to the videos to get my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he'll listen and pick them up.
And then my lap squeaks an offended sound. It's J, reminding me that I stopped our all important lesson of how to blow raspberries with efficiency and minimal drooling.
Maybe VHS tapes on the floor aren't such an eyesore... If they're providing entertainment and laughs, maybe they can wait to be picked up for a bit longer. After all, a happy boy and a happy baby with VHS tapes behind them are more fun to look at than a sad boy and grumpy baby with a clean floor.